


To Love a Guard

by Middle_Earth_Mama



Series: To Love [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Dwalin Feels, Dwalin Is A Softie, First Time, Friendship, Gold Sick Thorin, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mother Hen Dori, POV Alternating, Protective Dori, Protective Older Brothers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Middle_Earth_Mama/pseuds/Middle_Earth_Mama
Summary: " Suddenly, Dwalin's gaze shot up and met Ori's. The scribe's eyes widened in surprise and his face flushed crimson. He felt frozen in place at that intense stare, then the corner of Dwalin's lip curled in a smirk as he turned back to face Thorin. Ori released the breath he had been holding. He glanced around, making sure nobody had seen the exchange, and he swore he saw Nori smothering a chuckle. "The origin of Ori and Dwalin's relationship, as established on the quest for Erebor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I took a different angle for the second part to this series, and I don't regret it one bit. The more I write, the more I enjoy these two! I hope you find them as adorable as I do.

Ori was out of his element. He knew he would be. He knew this quest would be nothing like anything he had ever experienced before, never having been out in the wilderness for such a stretch of time, trekking so far. Being a scribe, he hadn't the training of most of the other dwarves, the training of warriors and princes. So he was quite happy when he found the last member of their little group would be a hobbit. The thought of learning about such a private and unknown people was exciting to him, not to mention, he wouldn't likely be the only one with little battle experience. He had his slingshot, and it did well enough for him. His real weapons were his two older brothers. 

Ori had always complained of his brothers. He resented the mothering of Dori, and Nori's overprotective tendencies, but he knew they meant well. As much as he hated being bossed about like a dwarfling, he did appreciate their loving gestures meant to keep him safe and out of harms way. But enough was enough. He was a grown dwarf, having recently come of age, and he was ready to prove it to his overbearing brothers. He knew when he had agreed to go on this quest they would try to convince him not to, and when that didn't work, they would insist on going as well. And so it went. 

Now they were all sitting around a large dining table, in a little hobbit hole, (smial, he reminded himself. He would have to add that to his notes) poring over a quite tattered looking map. The parchment was torn around its edges and worn from being folded and unfolded so many times. Ori wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the shape of it. He understood after what that map had gone through, its state couldn't be helped, but it still pained him to see such a marvelous piece of history so abused. He pushed the thought from his mind and tried to pay attention. 

Bofur was describing Smaug the terrible in morbid detail, and their would-be burglar wasn't taking it well. Ori couldn't help but notice as the details became more grotesque, his oldest brother Dori began to lean toward him protectively. That just wouldn't do. 

Ori leapt up to his feet. “I'm not afraid! I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”

Nori and few other dwarves muttered out words of encouragement, but Dori grabbed the little scribe by the elbow, ordering him to sit down. 

This of course, was exactly the type of behavior Ori was determined to stop from his brother. He sat and sulked a bit at having been treated like a dwarfling in front of the entire company. His gaze shifted about the room until his eyes met the rough looking warrior seated across the table. Dwalin, Ori thought his name was. He continued scanning the room, but his eyes trained back on the vicious looking dwarf time and again. Before he knew it, he was openly gaping. 

Dwalin was large, for a dwarf, and had obviously experienced a lot in his life, if his appearance was anything to go by. His skin was tough and weather worn, adorned with scars most likely aquired in battle. Ori found himself staring at the scar across the warrior's face. It slashed through the middle of his eyebrow and kissed the bridge of his nose. Ori wondered how that particular scar was acquired. Maybe some day he would ask. 

Suddenly, Dwalin's gaze shot up and met Ori's. The scribe's eyes widened in surprise and his face flushed crimson. He felt frozen in place at that intense stare, then the corner of Dwalin's lip curled in a smirk as he turned back to face Thorin. Ori released the breath he had been holding. He glanced around, making sure nobody had seen the exchange, and he swore he saw Nori smothering a chuckle.

* * * * *

Ori sat in a chair near the wall, separate from most of the group. He was taking in their hosts homey dwelling, with a particular interest in the large bookcase on the other side of the room. It was packed from end to end with a vast array of literature, historical and fiction in seemingly equal amounts. Ori wondered if the hobbit would allow him to borrow a few while they were on the road. He was quickly pulled from his wondering by the sudden appearance of Dwalin in the chair next to him. Ori tensed a bit, taken by surprise at the other dwarf's proximity. His attention shifted though, as silence had fallen over the room. He looked over the dwarves gathered around the hearth as a deep humming filled the small space. 

The king began singing, his deep voice rolling softly through the air. Then other voices joined him, including the voice of the dwarf sitting next to Ori. The scribe stared transfixed as Dwalin's rough voice crashed over him like a wave. The sorrow and longing were all too plain in his rich timbre, the obvious mourning of home and lives lost nearly shattered Ori's heart. 

Ori had not yet been born when the mountain was taken, and therefore had no memory of the kingdom that rightfully should have been his birthplace. Instead, he had been born on the road to the Blue Mountains, his birth sending his mother to her grave. Yet he had grown up listening to the tales of the Lonely Mountain from his brothers, and the song of the homeland he never knew brought on a desperate yearning for the life he and his family should have had. 

That night, Ori lay wrapped up in his bedroll near the hearth, his mind racing anxiously at the thought of the journey that lay ahead. He tossed and turned, sleep evading him entirely. Finally, he gave up and decided to get out his journal and quickly began sketching some of the architecture in the little hobbit's home. He was so focused on his work that he didn't notice Dwalin's approach until the dwarf's shadow fell over the parchment on his lap. 

“You have quite a talent there, lad,” the husky voice startled Ori and he dropped his quill. Ori's gaze shot up and met the guard's eye as the quill clattered to the floor. He gaped for a moment before remembering himself.

“I did not think a great warrior would have much respect for scribbles,” he said nervously.  
“I have as much respect for a scribble maker, as I do a maker of war, for without a scribe, a warriors deeds would not live on,” the larger dwarf replied softly. He smiled down at the young scribe in amusement, then sauntered off to find a place to bed down. Ori watched him go in wonder, pleasantly surprised at the warmth of the guard. He grinned to himself as he tucked his parchment away, and finally settled in to sleep.

* * * * *  
Dawn was just breaking over the crest of the next hill and filtering in through a little round window when Ori woke. He blinked rapidly as Dori's face swam into view above him. “Wake up Ori, time to go,” his older brother urged. 

Ori begrudgingly pushed himself up out of his bedroll. Everyone was quietly putting the hobbit's home back to rights and packing up to leave. Even Thorin was helping tidy the little smial, putting dishes back on the shelves and wiping down surfaces. 

Ori staggered to his feet and began packing up his bedroll, his quills, and his parchment.  
By the time he was finished, he noticed the company was almost ready to depart, so he pulled on his boots and cloak and his fingerless knitted gloves and joined Dori and Nori outside. The company departed shortly after the sun had fully risen.

* * * * *

Ori looked back towards Hobbiton from astride his pony. It really was a shame the hobbit would not be joining them. He thought he would get on quite well with the little creature, and would have liked another well read companion to pass the time with. He enjoyed the company of the princes, he really did, but they were quite different from Ori. Fili and Kili were as much warriors at heart as their uncle. And Dwalin, Ori added as an afterthought. He scanned the company to find said dwarf, eyes roving over Dwalin's muscular back and shoulders, and settled his gaze on the dwarf's head, studying the tattoos that covered the smooth skin. How would it feel to run his fingers over the ink? Would it be as smooth as the skin around them looked, or would the greenish black lines be slightly raised? He was pulled from his musings by a voice carrying over the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wait! Wait!” The hobbit's voice finally reached the front of the company. Dwalin and Thorin both stopped short and turned in their saddles towards the sound. Dwalin was dumbfounded. 

Durin's beard, the hobbit had signed the contract. He watched in amusement as the absurd little creature handed the official document to Balin for him to look over. He glanced sidelong at Thorin, but found his king and brother in arms with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Dwalin frowned and looked back at the hobbit as Thorin barked out for someone to get him a pony and the group continued on. Dwalin noticed the hobbit had settled in next to that little scribe. He grinned to himself as he recalled the young dwarf's startled face when he had caught him gawking the previous night. Youngest of the Ri brothers. How very interesting. He was about to ask Thorin how the scribe had ended up on this quest when he heard a throat being pointedly cleared beside him.

“Come now, brother, pay up!” Balin's voice had taken on that self-assured tone Dwalin had always loathed. He rolled his eyes and threw his coin at the white-haired annoyance. 

“My dearest friend and warrior, losing a bet to his brother?” Thorin teased light heartedly. 

Dwalin shook his head and rolled his eyes again. “How did ya know he'd show up?” he asked his older brother.

“I didn't. But I know the safest bet is always to bet against you!” Balin chuckled heartily at his own jest. Dwalin grit his teeth and frowned even harder. 

Balin was always giving his little brother a hard time. Kept him on his toes. Dwalin, of course, did not appreciate it in the least. He had spent his life in his brother's shadow, not that he typically minded overmuch. 

Dwalin wasn't much for being center of attention. He preferred fading in the background, until he was needed. That was easy when he was self appointed personal guard to the royal family. He and Thorin had been friends since they were dwarflings, and standing at the prince of Erebor's side guaranteed that Dwalin would not have to worry about too much attention. 

Thorin glanced at Dwalin sidelong and decided the best course of action would be an abrupt change in subject. 

“What are your thoughts on the members of our company, dear friend?” Thorin's voice pulled Dwalin from his sulk. He glanced at Thorin, then back at the group behind them, letting his eyes rove over every member. 

“I can't say for certain, but I think they'll all make it to the mountain at least. Well, most of them at any rate. But Thorin, if the dragon still lives, this lot is not fit to take on a fire drake.”

Thorin nodded solemnly. “Let's hope then, that the wyrm already lays rotting.” The two exchanged a dark look, then Dwalin remembered his previous curiosity.

“How is it the young scribe ended up in our ranks? I know his older brothers grew up in Erebor, but how did he get roped in?”

Thorin looked back at the dwarves in question, then threw a curios look at Dwalin and shrugged. “He is of age. It was his idea to come in the first place. Dori and Nori only came because he could not be convinced to stay behind.”

Dwalin looked at Thorin in surprise. It would make sense if Nori had insisted on this venture, given he was a thief and all. Erebor's treasure would be quite the notch in his belt. But a scribe? And a young one at that.

Dwalin glanced back at Ori, who was talking animatedly with Bilbo. He had a quill in one hand and a bottle of ink in the other, desperately trying to balance a sheet of parchment on the back of his ponies neck, where he was furiously scribbling notes as the hobbit talked. 

Dwalin grinned to himself as he noticed the ink smear on Ori's nose and the way the little scribbler held his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on not spilling his ink over his pony. The lad was no warrior, that much was certain. But he was a brave soul to agree to this adventure. And, truth be told, so was that hobbit. 

* * * * *

The rain had been pouring over the company in frigid sheets for the previous night and well into the day. Most everyone was grumbling, and those who weren't were quietly fuming in misery at the soggy state of everything. Soggy cloaks, soggy clothing, soggy boots, soggy ponies, and soggy packs. Bedrolls and supplies all water logged and not a dry place to make camp. Dwalin was as miserable as the lot of them, but he was not one to grumble about it. Until somebody was foolish enough to approach him, in which case he would bark at them to shove off or shoot them a murderous look. 

Somebody behind him, Dori perhaps, had asked Gandalf if he could stop the rain. Dwalin huffed. 

Fuckin fool. As though wizards held that much power. Mahal knew wizards were good for naught more than parlor tricks and speaking in aggravating riddles. It would be up to he and Thorin to find a suitable place to camp, and soon. The ponies were tiring and they wouldn't make it much further in this state. He sidled up next to Thorin so they could plan their next move. 

“We've got ta stop soon, Thorin. The ponies won't last if we push em much harder.”

Thorin nodded his agreement. “We're nearing a small range of rocky hills. I'm hoping there we can locate a cave or overhang to shelter us.” 

Dwalin was relieved there would soon be an end to the soaked state of everything. He looked at his king and saw the familiar look of worry there, his brow furrowed and lips drawn into a frown. Dwalin wasn't much good at this. Comforting and such. He reached over and put what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his friends shoulder. 

“We're on our way, Thorin. Ye'll be home soon.” Thorin gave him a small smile, then the two continued on in comfortable silence. 

* * * * *

They had finally found a suitable place to make camp, and everyone was grateful. The dwarves and hobbit had stripped down to naught but their underthings, save for Thorin, who was too bloody proud to keep from catching cold, lest somebody get an eyeful of the royal jewels. 

Dwalin glanced at the king standing proudly at the mouth of the cave and shook his head. He loved his friend, but Thorin was a majestic idiot. He grabbed a bowl of hot soup from Bombur and carried it over to their fine shivering leader. 

“Here,” he said as he thrust the bowl into Thorin's hands. Thorin gave him a sour look in return. “Ye better eat it so ya don't freeze to death,” Dwalin grumbled as he sauntered back towards the group by the fire. He stopped as his eyes caught those of the little scribe. 

Ori was peering over his parchment, looking like a caged rabbit as Dwalin met his eye with a piercing gaze. The red haired dwarf blushed prettily and quickly looked back down at his quill. 

Dwalin didn't bother looking away. What did he care if he made the scribe nervous? He ran his gaze over exposed skin, noting that the dwarf's blush went all the way down his scrawny little chest. Dwalin felt his stomach clench at the sight and he scowled pointedly at the ground in front of him as he sat back down. 

No sense in getting all bothered over some flushed skin. Not like he hadn't seen a bare dwarf before. And at any rate, he wasn't bothered! Ori was just... young and fun to look at. Besides, he had enough to worry about. He had to make sure Thorin took care of his stupid self and the princes.... 

Dwalin glanced up at the dwarves in question and sighed as he noticed them taunting the hobbit. 

“Kili. Fili,” Dwalin barked at them as he shot them a warning look. Both dwarves settled down and tucked in to their soup. 

Yes. He had his hands quite full enough without images of a naked scribbler haunting his thoughts.

* * * * *

Fili and Kili were nearly hysterical. They had crashed their way back to camp and were in a panic trying to explain to Thorin and Dwalin what had happened. 

“And, well, we didn't mean to lose the ponies-” Kili had started.  
“Not that it could be helped, they were taken by trolls-” Fili interrupted.  
“Trolls?!” Thorin roared, “Where is the halfling, Fili?!”  
“That's what we've been trying to tell you, the trolls have Bilbo!” Fili yelled as Kili had already gone sprinting through the brush back the way they had come from, Thorin hot on his heels. 

Dwalin wasted no time and rushed to catch up with the king. He could hear the rest of the company taking up arms to follow. 

Before long, Dwalin found himself fighting in a scuffle with three trolls. Thankfully, the rest of the company were proving themselves quite useful in a fight, with the exception of Bilbo, who Dwalin could not have even hoped to keep track of if he tried. 

Dwalin ducked as a hand reached to pluck him from the ground and he rolled and slashed at a leg the size of a tree trunk. He was made for this, years of battle conditioning his brain to cease all thought that did not include stab,block, jab, slice, duck, dodge, roll, fight, live. Thorin was beside him, and the two fought in synchronized perfection. 

“Dwalin, have you seen the halfling?” the king's voice cut through Dwalin's battle buzzed brain. He shook his head.  
“No, I dunno where he is!” Dwalin shouted as he scanned the scene for the little creature. Instead, his eyes trained on to someone else. Someone who was not much larger than Mister Baggins, but was every inch a dwarf. 

Ori was doing his part, standing just outside the fight. He held his sling shot in hand and was hitting his mark with rocks found around his feet. 

Dwalin watched in amusement as a rock hit a troll right in the eye, distracting him long enough for Bofur to take the troll out at the knee with his mattock. The corner of Dwalin's mouth twitched up at the sight, until he saw another troll grab Ori around the middle and lift him from the ground. 

Dwalin's heart nearly stopped. He could no longer hear what Thorin was saying, the sounds around him mufflig as everything became blurred except for the dwarf struggling in the trolls grasp. 

Without thought, Dwalin threw himself passed his befuddled king and lunged headlong into the back of the trolls knees, then spun and caught the shin with each of his axes in turn. The troll dropped Ori onto Dwalin's head and took up his abused leg, hopping up and down like a child in agony. 

“Are ye alright, lad?” Dwalin asked the scribe worriedly.  
“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Ori huffed as he pulled himself up, ready to join back in the fight. But it was over. The trolls had Bilbo, and Thorin would not give up the hobbit's life for anything. 

* * * * *

After the troll debacle, when Gandalf had so conveniently shown up at the last second, after Bilbo had had a chance to be clever, Dwalin found himself mulling over the nights events in the freshly blooming light of dawn.

Why had Thorin spared Bilbo at the risk of possible death of the whole company, and therefore the quest?  
And why had Gandalf waited to turn up until the last possible second? Were he and the halfling in on something together?  
And why in the name of Durin's smelly left ball sack had he gotten himself all worked up over that little scribe? He was not one to let somebody die or be injured in battle if he could help it, but the panic he had felt upon seeing Ori in that trolls clutches was not normal. 

Dwalin rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Mahal's beard. This was going to be a long journey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

Ori was sitting on a fallen tree, pointedly trying to ignore his eldest brother. Dori was fussing over him, obsessively picking twigs out of his hair and nattering on like the mother hen he was. Ori glanced at the opening to the troll cave some of their number had gone to investigate. He wished he had managed to maneuver himself in with them before his brother had caught up to him.

“Oh, Ori, what are we going to do? I told you this would be far too dangerous a journey for you! Look at you, your poor beard is singed!”

Ori looked up in exasperation. “So is yours, Dori! I'm just fine, and you'd do well to remember I am more than capable of making my own decisions!” 

Ori stood as curious eyes began to flicker their way. 

“If you think this quest is too dangerous, then go home! I for one, will be seeing it through and helping take back the home land that I didn't even have the privilege of laying my eyes on! And further more,” Ori continued as the others made their way out of the cave, “I have more to prove than either you or Nori, being that it's because of my very existence that our mother is gone! I'm doing this for her, Dori! Don't you dare try to talk me out of it again! Now if you'll excuse me-” with that, he shouldered past his astonished brother and stalked off to stand with the princes.

Fili and Kili exchanged glances as a seething Ori approached them, surprised at the usually mild-tempered scribe's outburst. 

“Ori, are you alright?” Fili asked hesitantly.  
“I'm fine!” Ori snapped. How is it his brother continued to do this to him? And in front of the company, always in front of the company. How would he ever convince Dori to let him alone?

“Do you hear that?” Kili's voice wavered a bit with equal parts nervousness and excitement as a bone chilling howl echoed through the trees. The three glanced around as Bofur's voice reached them.

“Wolf? No, that is not a wolf.”

The warg lunged out of the trees behind them, eyes wild and jaws open, sticky ropes of drool pouring over its yellowed teeth. Ori felt his stomach lurch as terror ripped through him and the warg pounced down into the group. 

Dwalin wasted no time. Ori watched in awe as the large dwarf roared , charging the beast, and buried his axes into either side of the warg's head. Dwalin was not a young dwarf, but you'd never know it watching him fight. Ori thought it was quite the sight to behold. He felt his pulse flutter a bit as he watched the warrior wipe the sweat from his brow. The guard was intriguing, that much was certain. And Ori knew what his next sketch would be of.

Gandalf's words cut through Ori like the sharp bite of ice in his chest, yanking him from his ogling of the guard.  
“We are being hunted.”

They were running. Running as fast as their feet could fly, dodging around rock and bushes so as to avoid detection. Ori somehow found himself between Dori and Dwalin, and no matter how fast he ran, or how many times he was tripped up, the two flanked him at either side, matching his speed. His heart was pounding and his gasping breaths hurt in his lungs. A stitch in his side gave him the feeling he was splitting in two for his efforts. Yet his feet continued to pound one after another into the unforgiving ground beneath him. 

Suddenly, he was stopped short by what felt like a steel bar across his chest. Thorin's arm, he realized as the king threw him back into the unyielding hold of Dwalin's solid body. The warriors arms wrapped around him and they stood, silent and panting, trying to avoid detection. 

Ori was beyond exhausted, but resting against Dwalin was doing nothing to settle his racing heart. If anything, he felt hotter, no less terrified, but more giddy. Drunk, he might have compared it to being. A growl from above pulled him from his reverie, as a warg and rider stood upon the rocky ridge the were ducked behind. Ori watched with bated breath as Kili stepped out with arrow notched and bow at the ready, keen eye on his target. Kili loosed his arrow and the warg and rider fell to the ground before the dwarves. The warg's roar of pain echoed over the valley and every dwarf froze with eyes as wide as caverns.

They were found.

Thankfully, they were not overrun before Gandalf called them over to a tunnel hidden in the rocks. They made a mad dash for the opening, and Ori found himself being dragged by a strong iron grip towards the wizard, then he was sliding down rough earth and landing in a heap at Gandalf's feet. He spit out some rock and grasses as he watched the rest of the company tumble down into the small chasm. He was completely disoriented and spent the next hour in a fog as the company made its way to Rivendell, much to many of the dwarves chagrin. The sights and sounds around him took on an ethereal quality, time becoming meaningless as his brain struggled to process.

Ori was focusing on settling his breathing and taking in the picturesque surroundings as he came back to himself, when he realized they were standing on a bridge. When had they gotten there? He must be in quite a state to have zoned out for so long. He glanced around warily and spotted Gandalf at the front of the group, conversing with a dark haired elf. 

Suddenly, a horn was blowing and Ori was being pulled behind a solid mass of leather as the company was surrounded by elves on horseback. Ori looked up at the back of the dwarf who stood before him. 

Dwalin. 

Dwalin had pulled him out of harms way and was now standing poised with his back against Ori's front, battle axes raised and ready to attack. Dori stood next to him, and was shooting the warrior a most incredulous look, but Dwalin didn't notice. He was focused on the possible threat before them. 

Ori tried not to pay too much attention to the dwarf pressing against his front. The heat rolling off the guard in waves and the strong set of his shoulders. But it couldn't be helped. It was impossible to ignore the feel of the muscled back heaving against his chest with every breath the guard took as he was packed in on all sides by the other dwarves. Ori closed his eyes and took a deep inhale to settle himself, which didn't help things as it only served to bring the scent of Dwalin deeper into his lungs. 

Ori decided to try breathing through his mouth and shook his head to clear it as the company was greeted by Lord Elrond.

When it was decided they were in no immediate danger, the dwarves relaxed just a little. Dwalin turned to face Ori, and laid a tentative hand on the scribes shoulder. 

“Ye alright, there?” he asked gruffly.   
Ori nodded in response as Dori pointedly cleared his throat at Dwalin. The silver haired dwarf folded his arms over his chest and glared daggers at the old guard. Dwalin huffed in response and scowled, then shook his head as he made his way over to Thorin. Ori watched this exchange in growing confusion. Dori turned to look at his little brother, arms still crossed, then suddenly threw himself in Ori's direction. 

“Ori are you alright?”   
Ori rolled his eyes. “Durin's beard, Dori, I'm just fine, dammit!” 

Dori jumped back in shock at the terse reply as Ori threw his hands up and stormed away. Well this was just perfect. First Dori was smothering him with his well-meaning protective tendencies, now it seemed Mister Dwalin was determined to cover when Dori wasn't able. Great. Just fantastic. At least Nori wasn't so overbearing that he couldn't breathe. He would have to do something about this soon, or he was going to explode. 

Ori stood fuming as far from his brother as he could manage when he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He glanced to the side where Bilbo was smiling at him half-heartedly. Ori smiled back and the two of them followed the company into the heart of the city. Maybe not everyone saw him as a child.

* * * * *  
After a most unsatisfying meal of mostly leafy greens, Ori found himself in a nice corner of the library to pass the time in. He was so engrossed in his sketching that he didn't notice Bilbo enter until he was standing over Ori's shoulder. 

“That's quite a perfect likeness,” the hobbit's voice jolted Ori, who scrambled to cover his drawing.   
“What? I wasn't-” Ori tried, then dropped his gaze as a blush stole over his face. 

Bilbo sat next to him and took up the half folded parchment from Ori's lap. The hobbit gently straightened the abused parchment and looked over the impressive image of Dwalin, axes and all. The likeness was a perfect depiction of the warrior, face determined and fierce, down to the scar over the dwarf's face and chunk missing from his ear. 

“Ori, this is amazing!” the scribe shrank against the back of the chair and blushed even more fiercely. “Do you have any others?” Bilbo asked excitedly.  
“A few. I intend to draw one of each company member, before journeys end,” Ori replied softly. 

Bilbo's smile was blinding as he considered the scribe.   
“Dwalin is quite handsome,” Bilbo murmured offhandedly, causing Ori to turn positively crimson up to his ears.   
“Oh... Oh, uh, I guess I didn't notice,” Ori's response was weak and lacking any conviction even to his own ears. Bilbo laughed a bit under his breath and shot Ori a knowing look.  
“Well alright, maybe I did notice, but that hardly matters!” the scribe blurted irritatedly.  
“What do you mean, it hardly matters, Ori?” Bilbo asked softly.

Ori sighed in defeat. “I know he only sees me as Dori and Nori's little brother.”

“He's been pretty protective of you lately. Don't think it's escaped anybodys notice.”

“Well, of course he would be. He's protective of the princes too, and Kili is barely younger than me, and Fili just a few years my senior. I know he sees me as he sees them. Young, and in need of constant supervision.”

Bilbo huffed a sigh and handed the sketch back to his friend. Ori glanced up at Bilbo cheekily.

“Thorin is quite the sight himself,” Ori mentioned casually.   
Bilbo's face soon matched Ori's in color as he sputtered in dismay at the now beaming scribe. 

“What's got you all tongue tied, Mister Boggins?” a too cheerful voice called out. Soon two princes were squashing themselves into the plush chair Bilbo and Ori had been lounging in. 

“Probably caught Ori perusing a book without having washed his hands first, or some such thing,” Fili responded casually. 

Bilbo shot the blond prince a reproachful look. “And what, exactly, is wrong with cleanliness, might I ask?” 

The prince shrugged as he picked up a book from the table next to him and flipped absently through the pages. “Nothing, especially if you're a snub nosed, tree shagging half-breed,” Fili quipped, flinging the book at Kili.   
“Half-breed?” Bilbo asked.  
“Oh yes, have you not noticed my baby brother more resembles the beardless pointy eared sprites of Rivendell more so than any dwarf I've ever seen?”

Kili scowled angrily at his brother, who was now cackling in self satisfaction. “I am no elf, you son of an orc!”

Fili just laughed harder, inflaming his little brother's ire.   
“I'll show you who's an elf,” Kili yelled as he lunged over Bilbo and Ori, tackling his brother to the ground. The two tumbled across the rug, Fili still laughing as Kili growled in frustration and hit with everything he had. 

“You two are absolutely impossible! Why don't you try behaving like princes!” Bilbo scolded the oblivious pair.

A shadow fell over Bilbo and Ori as Thorin's berating voice thundered from behind them.  
“Fili! Kili! Control yourselves.” 

The princes settled immediately, Kili scowling at a still chuckling Fili. 

Thorin gave them a firm look, then it softened as he turned his gaze to Bilbo.  
“Mister Baggins? I would like to request you join me for a meeting with Lord Elrond.”

Bilbo stood agape at the request and tried to find the words to respond. He settled for “Oh, very well,” and nodded lightly in agreement. 

Thorin nodded once in reply, then looked to the two still sitting on the ground. “Can the two of you manage to behave without the halfling to mother you?”  
“Hobbit!” Bilbo chided. “I am not half of anything, I'll have you know.”

Thorin pointedly ignored the reprimand and strode from the room in brooding silence.  
Bilbo sighed in resignation. “Make sure they don't destroy the library?” he implored. Ori nodded. With that, Bilbo left the dwarves to their scuffle, muttering about foul manners all the while.

Ori smiled to himself as he watched the princes wrestle. It was nice to have friends who looked at him as an equal. And as for Mister Dwalin? Well, he would have to prove he was more than capable of defending himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Dwalin huffed to himself as he paced the empty corridor outside his rooms. It was nice to have a mattress to sleep on, but the elvish dwelling put him on edge, making sleep impossible. He had already sharpened and cleaned his axes, Grasper and Keeper were fastened securely to his back. And he'd bathed and readied for bed, but still could not find peace. His head was beginning to ache at the heavy perfume of too many flowers overwhelming his senses. 

Dwalin stopped and leaned back against the wall, letting the cool marble sooth his head as he closed his eyes. The sound of footsteps pulled him from his stillness and he snapped his eyes open just in time for another dwarf to plod straight into him. The smaller body staggered, bouncing off his side and landed hard on the ground. Books and parchment scattered everywhere as Dwalin realized it was of course the little scribbler. By the looks of it, the scribe had been coming back from a late night in the library. 

Ori gazed up at the warrior, looking more terrified than he had while running from wargs. 

“Oh, oh oh oh I am so sorry Mister Dwalin, I wasn't watching where I was going,” the dwarf stammered out as he began frantically gathering loose papers and books from the floor.

“Think nothing of it, lad,” Dwalin's gruff voice answered back as he crouched down to help. 

The lad had quite a collection on him, more books than it seemed possible for the little scribe to carry at once. Dwalin stopped as his hands found a piece of lightly crumpled parchment. He pulled it out flat and his jaw dropped, stunned at the image looking back at him. 

It was him. Knuckle dusters in place, axes held at the ready, every scar and mark on him replicated perfectly onto the parchment before him.

“I'll be damned,” Dwalin murmured softly.

Ori's eyes shot up and he let out a horrible yelp as he ripped the parchment from Dwalin's hands. He looked absolutely mortified as he fumbled for some sort of excuse, mouth working silently as he floundered. Dwalin grinned at him knowingly and the poor scribe leapt up and fled down the hall, flinging himself into his room and slamming the door. 

Well, that was..... interesting. 

Dwalin felt horrible as he imagined Ori, red faced and shaking, probably close to tears at this point as he hid in his room. The poor scribe probably wouldn't even be able to meet his eyes at breakfast. He decided maybe he should try to talk to the lad. Let him know he admired his work. Maybe settle his nerves a bit. He walked down the hall and raised a hand to knock on the scribes door when a voice halted him in his tracks. 

“And what,” Nori's voice came from the shadows, “do you think you're doing, Dwalin?”

Dwalin closed his eyes and groaned. “I think I may have upset yer brother, and I intend to apologize.”

Nori stalked up to the guard and grabbed him by the tunic, yanking him further down the hall so as not to be overheard. Leading him, more like, considering Dwalin's bulk was not easily dragged. Not many dwarves got away with grabbing the warrior and pulling him around so roughly, but for some reason even he couldn't fathom, Dwalin went along with it. 

“Don't think I haven't noticed your sudden interest in my baby brother,” the thief began knowingly. “You've been nearly glued to his side for days.”

“Nori, I would never-”  
“I'm warning you. Don't you go hurting him or I will tell Dori everything that goes on between you. I will be watching very closely. And if you think Thorin can save you from the wrath of my brother, you're sadly mistaken.”

Dwalin flinched. He was a fierce warrior, his skill and strength in battle were nearly unmatched. But Dori was a force to be reckoned with. 

“I have no intention of doing anything more than apologizin, ye don have to tell Dori nothin.”  
“I hope not. And please don't make me. If you hurt my little brother Dwalin, wargs and orcs will be the least of your problems.” With that, the thief turned on his heel and strode back down the hall.

Dwalin huffed out a sigh. Oh for fucks sake. Hadn't he just convinced himself not long ago that he should keep his distance from that damn tempting little scribbler? And now, he had Nori watching him, ready to sic Dori on him like a rabid warg. 

Too much. It was all too much. Dwalin stomped off to his bedroom, determined to get some obviously much needed sleep.

* * * * *

Dwalin brooded quietly as he followed Thorin deeper into the mountains, the rest of the company following close behind. The sky was darkening, and a frigid rain had begun to fall on them once again. The higher they trekked, the colder it got. His breath felt like splintered ice in his lungs, tiny puffs of condensation gracing every exhale. The wind bit at his bare scalp, and tore at his face. Lightning struck far too close as a ground shaking clap of thunder stopped the whole company in their tracks. Dwalin felt fear rolling in the pit of his stomach as he watched in disbelief as the mountain before them began to move.

“Look out!” The warrior bellowed as the ground began to shift beneath their feet. Without a thought, Dwalin reached behind him and grabbed the scribe, slamming him into the wall of rock at his side as the stone giant began moving. Apparently, they had chosen the wrong moment to walk across the monstrous stone giant's knee. The only thought Dwalin was conscious of having was for the safety of the young dwarf pressed tight against his arm. He held the red-head fast against the rock, bracing him when his feet were slipping and near panicking when he thought Ori might fall. 

Finally, the side of the mountain was within reach and Dwalin all but threw Ori onto the solid ground before lunging himself to land at the scribes side. 

Ori looked up at Dwalin with a pale face and shaking hands. “Thank you, Mister Dwalin,” he said softly with a voice he was proud to notice only shook a little.

The corner of Dwalin's mouth twitched up and a warmth settled over him at the sincerity in the smaller dwarf's voice.   
“Don' mention it, lad.” 

Ori smiled up at him for a moment, before a look of dread overcame him as Bofur's voice carried on the wind. “Where's Bilbo?”

Ori was the first to spot him. The hobbit was hanging by the tips of his fingers on the lip of the cliff. Ori dropped to the ground and wrapped a steady hand around the little hobbit's wrist. Dwalin hit his knees beside him and joined in his effort to pull Bilbo up. He was hit with alarm like a fist to the face when his king lunged down to grasp the halfling and pull him up to safety, with no regard for his own foolish skin. His alarm turned to absolute horror when Thorin's grip slipped, and without thinking Dwalin thrust his arm out to catch him. Thankfully, he was already crouching on the ground and able to grasp the king and haul him up.

The relief was palpable when the company realized they'd all made it back to solid ground in one piece.

“I thought we had lost our burglar,” Dwalin gasped as he helped Thorin to his feet.  
“He's been lost ever since he left his home. He should not have come, he has no place among us,” Thorin said roughly and turned on his heel to continue onward. 

Dwalin rolled is eyes inwardly. Sure. Thorin could easily say as much, but it was clear the halfling meant more to him than that. It was no small thing for the king to throw his life on the line for a mere burglar, especially given all that was at stake on this particular quest. 

Dwalin shot one last look back to assure himself Ori was whole and well before he followed Thorin. He just wanted to see the young dwarf was protected. Perhaps Dori's mothering was rubbing off on him. Or something. It couldn't be feelings. Dwalin didn't have those. No, that must be gas. All that green food. Bad for the bowels. That must be it.

* * * * *

The cave they had found to camp out in was nothing to complain about. It was dry, and just big enough for them all to squeeze in. Dwalin had been standing near the mouth, taking first watch, as he did every night. Though now, he was heading off to bed, having just been relieved by Bofur. Of course, it was only as he shifted himself down into his bedroll that he noticed Ori of all people had bedded down right next to him, snoring softly. Nori sat nearby, smirking at the guard like the cock-sure ass that he was. 

Dwalin scowled, then looked back down at Ori, wrapped up so peacefully under his blanket. Oh, he was beautiful, that little scribe. Dwalin couldn't help the thought as it intruded on his brain. He tried to tell himself the attraction was purely an acknowledgement of the fine features of the Ri brothers. Though, if the glare he was getting from Dori on Ori's other side was any indication, Dwalin's face must've betrayed his true regard. 

Dwalin glowered back before flinging himself down onto his bedroll with an angry huff, turning his back to that obnoxious glare. Damn meddlesome older brothers. His own was grinning at him knowingly from across the cave, and Dwalin would kiss an orc's ass before he gave Balin the satisfaction of getting a glimpse of the guilty look he knew was all over his face. 

Dwalin tossed and turned for the next hour, unable to shake the confounded warm feeling in his gut. Indigestion. Had to be. He was about to get up and stretch his legs for a moment when Thorin's voice filled the cave. “Up! Get up!” 

They were falling. Dwalin grunted as another boot hit his chest, then with a disgruntled “oof” he landed sprawled out on a rickety walkway. He tried to reach for Grasper and Keeper as the rest of the dwarves landed brutally on his back. Of course they would all land on him. The sound of creaking wood under too many clawed feet hit his ears and he looked up. Goblins. Legions of goblins scrambled towards them with crude weapons and jagged claws. The dwarves were pried up from the where they lay and shoved rigorously down the walkway. 

Dwalin tried again to reach for his axes, but the overwhelming swarm of goblins made it impossible for him to move his arms above his waist. He looked around at his companions, taking stock of those at the forefront of his mind. Ori, Balin, Thorin, Fili, Kili.... the rest, he hadn't the mind to search for. 

Call him cold hearted. His mind was only for the survival of those who mattered most. He couldn't hold the lives of the entire company on his shoulders. Leave that to the king. If any of them were going to die, it wouldn't be the few he held most dear. The thought shattered through his being as realization hit him. Ori was on that list. When had Ori ended up on that list? 

The king, the princes, his brother... they were always his top priority. It was only in the rush of panic that he could admit to himself he gave a shit what happened to the little scribbler. 

Dammit.

The throng of goblins finally stopped shoving and prodding, now taking to jumping and shrieking excitedly as their king approached the dwarves. 

Well shit. Things were just getting better and better, weren't they? 

“Who are you? Assassins? Thieves!?”  
“Dwarves, your malevolence.”  
“Dwarves?”

Dwalin rolled his eyes. Goblins were about as stupid as they come. The only way they managed anything was by using their vast numbers to their advantage. He scanned the vast group surrounding them, sizing up the largest ones and calculating their probability of escape.

Not promising.

Dwalin was shaken from his estimations when the great goblin began yelling for his hoard to bring him several vicious sounding torture contraptions. 

Well this wasn't good.

“Shall we start with the youngest?” the great goblin laid his bloodthirsty eyes on a wide eyed Ori.

Dwalin roared. He wanted to chop every gangly gnarled limb from every putrid goblin in his sight at the thought of them harming his little scribbler. Oh no, not on his watch. 

Thankfully, the great goblin's attention was quickly fixed on Thorin. 

Wait, no, that was bad too. What was the matter with him? Suddenly this little scribe mattered more to him than his king? 

No, no no no this was not happening. Not now! 

A blinding flash of light, and that damnable wizard strode in like a god. 

Very last second as usual. 

And before he knew it, they were taking up arms and running for their lives. 

Again. 

And now, without him even remembering deciding to, he was tossing Grasper to the red haired scribe, and throwing himself in front of Ori again and again to keep him from harm. 

Mahal wept. He could deny it outright, but there was no lying to himself. He was completely enamored with the little scribbler. 

* * * * *

It was a heavy thing, caring for another's life above one's own, and Dwalin felt the weight of it as he watched the king embrace the hobbit. It was enough to carry the weight of duty that came with being the personal guard of royals, though technically the great goblin was right, and Thorin was not technically a king, and Fili and Kili not technically princes. 

But since when did dwarves give a damn about technicalities? It was about lineage and birthright and bloodline. 

The weight of caring for another above himself out of..... fascination. 

Well, more like admiration.

Or... or fondness.

Yes, alright, maybe something like love.... he was out of practice, other than when it concerned his brother. But Balin was the eldest and held his own with no difficulty. Ori, however, was a completely different case. He was not helpless, no, but inexperienced and the thought of any harm coming to his little scribbler set Dwalin on edge like battle had never done. 

No, going to war was easy. Caring for someone? Out of no obligation? It was all consuming. And nobody felt the weight of it like Dwalin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t stop posting! I’m so eager to get this all up, I hope I don’t make you all dizzy as I throw more chapters on.

It was an immense relief, being surrounded by four solid walls again. Privacy and safety were in far too short supply on the road, particularly in the goblin tunnels, and while being chased yet again over hill and plain by murderous orcs. 

Beorn was an odd sort, but the dwarves were beyond grateful for his hospitality. The company needed to rest, and their fearless leader's wounds were in grave need of being tended to. 

Ori lowered his parchment and watched the scene before him unravel.

“For the last time, Bilbo, I am more than capable of bathing myself!” Thorin was insisting.

“I know you are a quite capable dwarf, but if you further injure your surely broken ribs because you refused my help, I will break your legs as well, Thorin Oakenshield! Now move!” Bilbo pointed the chastised king in the direction of the baths. 

Shockingly, Thorin huffed a sigh and did as the hobbit had ordered. 

Well. That was an improvement. Ori knew the two harbored a soft spot for each other. He had been watching them tip-toe around each other for weeks, and it was nice to see them finally interacting, maybe gruffly, but with obvious care. And on a first name basis as well.

Ori smiled to himself, then his gaze moved over the few of the dwarves sitting around the hearth. Bofur was whittling, whistling cheerfully to himself, and Gloin was dozing quietly at his side. Oin rose from the floor and followed Bilbo and Thorin, bandages and ointment in hand. As Ori's gaze fell on Dwalin, he was startled into realizing the dwarf was staring back, eyes full of intensity. 

Oh. Oh that dark look was quite alluring on the warrior, and Ori made a choked squeak in the back of his throat as Dwalin rose and began walking towards him.

By the Valar, what would Ori say to him? They hadn't spoken since that embarrassing night in Rivendell, when Dwalin had come across that damned drawing. 

Dwalin sat heavily down on the rug next to the scribe. Ori's throat clicked as he swallowed dryly, glad there wasn't anyone to witness his discomfiture. He scrambled for words, any words, as Dwalin pulled out his pipe and filled the bowl, seemingly at ease next to him. Finally, he pulled Grasper from his pack, presenting the ax to its rightful owner. 

“Thank you, for letting me borrow this,” Ori mumbled lamely.  
Dwalin grunted in reply as he took a deep pull from his pipe. He let the smoke curl from his nose, before blowing a smoke ring lazily into the air.  
“Keep it.”

Ori thought for sure he had misheard the dwarf. “I- what?”  
“Keep it. Yer goin ta need it again. That sling shot does well enough for taking a troll unaware, but orcs and wargs are too smart. Gotta gut em.”

Ori frowned and looked down at the ax in his hands. Dwalin treated his weapons like one would treat their children. Ori had seen him obsessively clean and sharpen them before the fire every night after supper. Yet he could so easily let a simple scribe keep one of them on his person for an undetermined period of time?

“If ye'd like, I can teach ya how ta use it,” Dwalin's voice cracked just a bit, and Ori could swear the great warrior seemed nervous. He smiled down at his hands.  
“I would like that,” he replied, turning his face up to meet Dwalin's gaze, “I would like that very much.”

Dwalin's answering smile was bigger than any Ori had seen on the dwarf. They sat like that for a moment, grinning ridiculously at each other, until a throat cleared from the doorway. 

Nori stood leaning against the door jam next to them, arms crossed arrogantly over his chest, looking ever the part of a protective older brother. “Remember my last, Dwalin,” Nori warned before strutting over to the hearth to sit next to Bofur. 

Ori looked back at Dwalin questioningly, but the dwarf was glaring at the back of Nori's head. Was it just him, or was the warrior blushing? 

* * * * *

It was late morning when Ori found himself standing across from Dwalin on the grass, the large dwarf crouched ready to deflect anything the scribe threw at him. Ori lunged right and his blow was easily blocked. Grasper's blade clashed loudly against Keepers and the warrior twisted the butt of the shaft between Ori's hands, knocking Grasper from his grip and sending the scribe sprawling to the ground. 

Ori lay on the grass, panting as he gazed up at the sky, white tufts of clouds chasing each other lazily through the air. Why couldn't they spend their day like this, laying on the soft grass peacefully watching the clouds as huge bees flew about them. Ori sighed.

Dwalin cleared his throat to get his attention again. Ori tilted is head back and looked up at Dwalin's upside down form, still struggling to catch his breath. 

“That wasn't bad, little scribbler,” Dwalin assured the smaller dwarf.  
“Sure. You had me on my back in two seconds,” Ori lamented.  
Then the implication of his wording hit him and he cringed, blushing yet again as the warrior chuckled darkly.  
“Only if ye'd let me,” Dwalin grumbled low enough Ori couldn't be sure he heard him clearly as he walked around to Ori's feet, reaching out a hand to pull him up.

“Let's work on yer blocking,” Dwalin resumed his stance a good distance from Ori, waiting for him to ready himself. Ori fidgeted nervously as he waited for the larger dwarf to attack. Durin's beard, how was he ever going to deflect such a powerful dwarf's ax? 

Thankfully, Dwalin held back for Ori's sake, moving a little slower than usual, and struck with much less force, allowing the scribe time to block. He threw one blow after another, slicing Keeper back and forth, slowing picking up pace and intensity. 

Ori held his own. He twisted and dodged, ducking and meeting Dwalin's well aimed hits blow for blow. 

Ori felt his muscles tiring as he struggled to fight through the pain, barely keeping pace as the warrior sped up. He felt his arms giving out under the weight of the great battle ax, his breathing shallow and labored. Finally, Dwalin relented, dropping to his knees on the ground and laying Keeper across the grass at his side.

“Yer stamina is impressive,” the warrior panted, “but we still need to work on your form.”  
Ori dropped onto his back, again staring up at the too-blue sky. Then he turned to face the warrior.  
“Your stamina is far more remarkable, and I'd love to test it.” Ori's head felt foggy with exhaustion, and he gasped his reply without remembering making the decision to share his inner musings.

Dwalin's eyes bulged in his head as he regarded the brazen young dwarf. He quickly regained his composure and grinned deviously.  
“I would not be opposed to lettin ye try to tire me out,” Dwalin responded with a suggestive quirk of an eyebrow. 

Ori smiled and gave him a challenging look. “Is that so?” 

The scribe sat up pointedly and shot Dwalin a provocative look. “Come here then,” Ori tilted his head to beckon the warrior closer. 

Dwalin's grin was feral as he crawled on hands and knees toward the suddenly confident scribe. He stopped only when he could feel the other's breath ghost over his lips. 

Ori's smile faltered as he glanced down at Dwalin's chapped lips. His breath was shaky as he slowly closed the distance between them, pressing a chaste kiss to the warriors mouth. His eyes closed of their own accord and he felt his heart would beat out of his chest at the others proximity. Far too soon, Dwalin pulled back and Ori met that intense dark gaze. He leaned in again, eager for another taste.

“There you are, Ori!” Dori's voice was like the frigid air of the Misty Mountains dousing them in icy rain. “I've been looking for you. Oh good! Mister Dwalin was giving you a little training! That will come in handy later,” Dori finished cheerfully as Dwalin helped Ori off the ground. 

“Come Ori, Mister Beorn has lunch ready!” Dori called over his shoulder as he sauntered off back toward the house. 

Ori held fast to Dwalin's hand, leaning in close to his ear. “Meet me after the others are asleep. Near the garden.”

* * * * *  
“I'm on to you, brother mine,” Nori's voice pulled Ori from the sketch of Beorn he was working on. He looked up at his brother with big doe eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Ori asked innocently.  
“Don't play dumb,” Nori warned, “I saw you.”  
“Saw...what now?” Ori's heart was starting to hammer in his chest.  
“You. With Dwalin. After breakfast.”

Ori groaned and threw his head back into the wall behind him.  
“Please, don't tell Dori!”  
“Don't worry, little brother. I won't tell Dori. For now. Unless it becomes something Dori needs to be aware of.”

Ori shot his brother a sour look.  
“I just mean if things go badly. I won't say anything unless Dwalin gives me reason to. Despite my personal distaste for the dwarf, I do want you happy. Just don't know what you could possibly see in a stuffy old guard nearly twice your age,” Nori muttered, giving Ori a disgusted look. “Plus, the old bastard comes with a lot of baggage.”

“What do you mean? Did you know him? Back in Erebor?”  
“Yea, unfortunately. Got on his bad side. He was a royal guard, see. Didn't take too kindly to my thieving. Had to keep mom and Dori fed, though, and Dori's earnings weren't enough. Mom was sick and pregnant with you. So I did what I had to.”

Ori frowned, eyes cast downward as he mulled this over. 

“Don't worry. Dwalin was only doing his job,” Nori reassured. “He seemed a good enough sort. If you like the stuffy noble loyal do gooder type.”

Ori grinned to himself. 

“Yea, I thought you might,” Nori smirked at his little brother. Then his face grew hard. “He had a wife.”  
Ori's face fell.  
“And an infant.”  
Ori's stomach dropped to his toes. Dwalin was married?  
“He lost them. When the dragon came.”

Ori's head was swimming with the new information. “He didn't... he couldn't save them?”  
Nori shook his head darkly. “He was on duty, standing guard at the gate when it happened. The halls were filled with dragon fire by the time he managed to get back into the mountain. There was nothing he could do.”

Ori's heart clenched in pain for the guard. What a horrible loss to bare.  
“He is no stranger to pain and grief, and I feel for him, I really do. But if he hurts you in any way, Dori will know about it. And don't think we'll be easy on him.”

Ori looked back up at Nori. “You won't stop me?”  
“Stop you from what? Courting? No. That's ridiculous. Can't expect you to live your life out alone. Can't pick your mate for ya either.” Nori shrugged and began cleaning under his nails with a dagger. 

“I'm meeting him. In secret. Later tonight,” Ori mumbled, “would you... could...”  
“I'll try to make sure Dori doesn't come lookin,” Nori answered the unfinished question.  
Ori's responding smile was radiant. He threw his arms around his brother and squeezed. 

“Thank you, Nori!”  
“Oh for....” Nori pushed his brother off him. “Durin's balls, Ori, calm down. I'm not handing over a mine of mithril.” He smiled warmly at the young scribe for a moment, before regaining his dismissive air. “Go take a bath. You smell like a warg's ass.”

Ori ran off towards the baths, sure his older brother was teasing, but thinking after the morning's practice it wouldn't be a bad idea anyway. 

* * * * *

As darkness crept over the house, the company settled in to their bedrolls, most keeping close to the fire. Dwalin and Ori were sure to make their beds a little out of the circle, further from the group. Ori's eyes were drawn to the warrior repetitively throughout the evening, and Dwalin's conspiring grin was encouraging. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the room was full of the sound of snoring dwarves. Ori sat up slowly, eying his oldest brother, who was hunkered down near the fire. Dori appeared to be sleeping, so Ori threw an eager look at Dwalin's bedroll, which he was thrilled to see was already empty. Ori pushed himself carefully to his feet, and tip-toed quietly out the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t help but torture Dwalin, and I’m not even sorry. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be under the bed, awaiting my judgement.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been following this, and thank you to those who have left kudos!

The air was warm and full of the smell of honeysuckle. Dwalin lay between the garden and the bee hives, staring up at the stars like some stupid sap.  
What had he gotten himself into? 

Dwalin's head snapped up as the sound of footfalls approached.  
Ori.  
The young scribe made his way toward the little clearing with fumbling steps. He sat down heavily on the grass and pulled a few blades uneasily. His shoulders were tense, and he gazed up shyly at Dwalin, uncertainty in his eyes.

Where was the brazen young warrior he had been sparring with this afternoon? Dwalin sat up, leaning back on his elbows as he regarded the younger dwarf.

“Ye scared of me now, lad? Didn seem so afraid this mornin,” Dwalin asked softly.  
“Just a little nervous,” Ori admitted.  
“We don have ta do anything more than talk, if ye want.”  
Ori smiled in reply, setting butterflies in Dwalin's stomach. 

Mahal wept. He was really goin soft. 

“I'm not scared of you,” Ori whispered, “I'd like to know you better.”  
“What is it ye wanna know?” Dwalin asked.  
“Whatever you want to tell me. Were you always a kings guard? How long have you known Nori?”  
“Talked to yer brother, did ya?”  
Ori nodded.  
“Always was one fer trouble, that one. Caught him liftin more coin off merchants than any other I came across.”  
Ori dropped his gaze and sniffed a little.

“Don' get me wrong, I know his heart was in tha right place, but the law is what it is, and it was my job to uphold it. May've let him get away with a bit more than was strictly professional, considering yer mother an all.....” Dwalin could've slapped himself for bringing up the dwarf's dead mother right now. 

Honestly this was not at all how he thought this night would go.

Ori glanced up, taking in the apologetic look on Dwalin's face. “It's alright,” he put a hand on the guards shoulder, “I never knew her. Nori said he did what he had to do to keep her fed. I owe him my life for it. And my mother lost hers giving birth to me. That's why I'm here. On this quest. I want to to help take back my mother's home.”

Dwalin's heart warmed at his little scribbler's admission. It was a noble thing, honoring loved ones lost. His regard for Ori only grew with this new information. 

To Dwalin's surprise, the little scribbler moved closer and laid down, letting their sides touch. Dwalin resumed his reclined position, hyper aware of the warm body laying flush against him. 

How was it that something as little as his arm brushing the bare skin of Ori's was enough to make fire spark deep within him. He turned onto his side, propping himself on an elbow to look down at the red-haired dwarf. 

“I was hoping to give you another lesson,” Dwalin said roughly. Was he flirting? Durin's balls, he was flirting. And not well.

“Oh? And what is the subject matter?” Ori raised an eyebrow.  
Dwalin was relieved that the scribe was taking the bait instead of laughing in his face like he probably should, but he decided it was best not to embarrass himself further with his horrible attempts at seduction. Instead, he leaned down to place a gentle kiss to Ori's lips. 

What started as a slow whispering of rough lips sliding against each other quickly built in heat and urgency. Dwalin placed a calloused hand on the side of a barely bearded face and turned his head, teasing his tongue along the seam of Ori's lips. The scribe gasped and Dwalin took the advantage, plundering the conveniently open mouth with an eager tongue. Ori's arms wrapped instinctively around broad shoulders and Dwalin threw a leg over the smaller dwarfs hips as their tongues slid hotly together. 

Shit, he should stop this! He knew Ori was far from experienced, and he certainly didn't want to be scaring the dwarf off by coming on too strong. But it was so tempting to let this unfold, drag the scribe beneath him and take him until he was a writhing mess. He wondered what filth he could coax from Ori's tempting mouth if he worked him just right. 

No no, that was dangerous territory. Dwalin forced himself to pull back. Ori looked positively delectable like this, lips red and shiny, dark eyes full of lust. 

Resisting this would be next to impossible.

Dwalin decided the best course of action would be to figure out what Ori really was seeking, before he did something stupid. Like fuck Dori's baby brother near the tomatoes. In the back yard of a very large bear-man. After sneaking out with him like an adolescent.

For the love of Mahal, what was happening to him? 

“What were ye hopin would happen tonight, when ye asked me to meet ya here?” Dwalin flinched at the broken sound of his own voice.  
“Honestly, I don't know. I just wanted to be with you alone,” Ori answered honestly.

Dwalin nodded. “And what do ya want now?”  
“I don't...... I want a lot of things. But I wouldn't know where to begin.”  
“Let's start with something easier. Have ye had any... experience... with others... before?” 

Dwalin was frustrated at his own difficulty with this conversation. It had never been so hard to talk about sex. He had never known himself to be shy, having had his fair share of tumbles with other dwarves. But apparently, he was a completely different dwarf, because shit was coming out of his mouth and going through his mind that he would never have even considered before.

Ori blushed. “No. I've never been with anyone. Have you met my brothers? There's no way anyone could have even gotten close to me.”  
Dwalin flopped back down on the grass and covered his eyes with a hand. He had assumed as much, but to hear it verified only made him feel more like a dirty old man.

“Dwalin? Does that upset you?” Ori's voice was full of worry.  
“No, no lad, it doesn't.” The guard sighed deeply. “Well, not the way yer probably assuming.”  
He sighed again.  
“I would never push ye, and I think it's best if we take this slow. Whatever.... this.... is....” 

And now he was being sweet and sincere. 

Lost cause. He was a lost fucking cause.

“I would like that. And I would like..... to touch you a little more,” Ori was that brazen dwarf again. 

Dwalin couldn't stop the curl of his mouth into an eager grin and predatory look that filled his eyes. “Yea?”  
Ori nodded.  
“What did ye have in mind?”

Ori rolled to his side, leaning over a pleasantly surprised Dwalin. He slowly slid a shaky hand over the waist of Dwalin's trousers, his soft fingertips ghosting over the skin of the guards stomach. 

Dwalin's eyes squeezed shut and his breath caught in his throat as Ori's hand grazed his clothed erection. Fumbling fingers worked at the ties of his leathers, and Dwalin held his breath against the urge to rip his own pants off just to free himself. Instead, he laid a calming hand on Ori's shoulder, and the scribes hands steadied just a little.

Dwalin thought perhaps a better dwarf would have stopped Ori, but he had no intention of doing so. He would let the scribe do whatever he wanted to him. Fuck he'd let Ori shear his beard and beat him with his own knuckle dusters if he wanted to. Anything. Anything his scribbler wanted was alright with Dwalin. 

The warm air felt chilly against his heated flesh, and Dwalin shifted his hips eagerly as his pants were shifted down just enough. He waited a moment for the scribe to reposition, then groaned obscenely when Ori finally wrapped his slightly sweaty hand around his cock. 

This is how he would die. Just like this, with his sweet scribbler gazing down at him in wonder as he stroked him with stupidly soft hands at an agonizingly slow pace. It would be the death of Dwalin, and that was just fine with him. 

Ori leaned in for a kiss, heavily lidded eyes burning with arousal. He let his mouth trail lazily to a bristled cheek.  
“Show me what you like,” he whispered softly as he grazed his nose along the side of Dwalin's face. 

Dwalin didn't hesitate. The seductive tone in Ori's voice was enough to drive him into a crazed frenzy if he didn't do something now. He wrapped his hand around Ori's and guided his grip to the perfect pressure, the perfect speed, the perfect twist of the wrist as his hand slid up the hot shaft and over the swollen head. 

It didn't take long. Dwalin's eyes rolled back in his head and his body tensed from head to foot. Ori watched raptly as Dwalin's brow furrowed and his mouth twisted in overwhelming pleasure. His orgasm hit him like a ton of rock and his vision blanked as he spilled hotly over nimble fingers.

Dwalin groaned contentedly as his body went limp and he waited for the haze to clear. Oh he would be repaying that favor back tenfold. 

Once his heart stopped thundering in his chest like a war drum.  
And his hands stopped shaking.  
And his breathing stopped sounding like the bellows.  
Shit. He felt like he was in his seventies again. How this little scribe had affected the guard so much, he couldn't fathom. But his breaths were finally becoming less labored and he was about to see just how much he affected his little scribbler in return.

Dwalin pulled up his leathers and put himself back to rights. Then with a gentle smile he reached up and took Ori's shoulders in a firm but gentle grip. He rolled the smaller dwarf onto his back, climbing up so he was straddling him in the grass.

“Alright?” he asked the blushing red head. Ori simply nodded and blushed all the harder. 

Mahal, the dwarf was gorgeous.

Dwalin leaned in and pulled the scribe into a deep, toe curling kiss, then brushed his mouth over to a scruffy jaw and down the column of Ori's throat, teasing with tooth and tongue all the way down to a prominent collar bone. He sat up and slid further down the scribes trembling body, grasping at the waist of Ori's pants. He stopped, raising his gaze to give Ori a questioning look. Again Ori nodded for him to continue.

The guard slowly unlaced the scribes pants, lightly brushing the hardness there with every move of his fingers. Ori writhed beautifully at the teasing touch until finally, the guard maneuvered his pants down far enough to expose him to the night.

Dwalin's mouth watered as he thought about what he was about to do. He prayed to Mahal and any of the Valar who'd listen that Ori would allow it. He slid down further and placed a teasing kiss to the smaller dwarf's hip bone, looking up again to be sure he was welcome. Ori jerked his head once to press him on, so Dwalin began placing open mouthed kisses slowly down the scribes pelvis, taking his time so Ori could stop him if he wanted. 

The effect was glorious. Dwalin couldn't help but grin in satisfaction as Ori's body responded so beautifully to his teasing. The dwarf was positively squirming in anticipation as the hot welcoming mouth moved closer and closer to where he needed it most. 

Dwalin flicked his tongue teasingly over the head of Ori's cock and looked up to meet pleading eyes as he gave the scribe an enticing look. 

Ori's whine was answer enough. Dwalin ran the flat of his tongue lightly along the length of Ori's throbbing hard shaft, eliciting a broken moan from the dwarf beneath him. Ori's hips began to stutter lightly as little whimpers and pleas fell from his mouth.

That was all the go ahead Dwalin needed. He wrapped his mouth around the head, swirling his tongue over the leaking slit and then plunged the entire length into his mouth. Ori writhed beneath him, gasping and begging for more. His hips jerked sporadically as the heat of Dwalin's mouth overwhelmed him. 

Dwalin swirled his tongue on every upstroke as desperate hands found the top of his head and he groaned as blunt fingernails dug into his scalp. Ori's pleas turned into wanton moans and in no time he was all but curling himself around Dwalin's head as he came hard over Dwalin's wicked tongue. The guard gentled his assault on oversensitive flesh as Ori rode out the last waves of his orgasm. 

Dwalin sat up as the scribe's body settled and placed a few tender kisses to Ori's exposed hips. Then he slowly crawled up to lay next to the shuddering scribe. He flopped down heavily onto the ground and wrapped an arm around his little scribbler, dragging him close and kissed his head.

“Alright?” Dwalin asked softly.  
“More than alright,” Ori responded, “that was......” Ori gave a jerk of his head and groaned appreciatively.  
“Aye. That it was,” Dwalin responded, chuckling a bit “but we best be getting back inside before somebody misses us.”  
Ori nodded, but neither moved for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Dwalin has been my favorite character to write so far! My brain apparently has him perfectly depicted the way it wants, and I don't even think as I write him. He just writes himself. 
> 
> I swear it will never get easier to post the smutty bits. They're the most fun, but I can't help but blush and get all anxious when I post them! Please, take pity on me and leave a comment if you liked it. Comments are like my lifeforce. It's hard to keep this up without them


	7. Chapter 7

Ori couldn't help his cheerful demeanor at breakfast. He nearly skipped into the room, humming softly to himself. He plopped down between his brothers and smiled warmly at them both before loading his plate with bread and fruits. Nori grinned at his love struck baby brother and shook his head. He glanced across the table and saw a matching smirk on the guard, who was looking at Ori like a slab of meat. Nori kicked Dwalin in the shin and gave him a reproachful look. He got a scowl for his trouble and the bald dwarf went back to his porridge. 

Dori was more oblivious. “Glad to see you're finally getting some proper sleep, Ori. You've been looking far too pale for my liking. Are you training with Mister Dwalin again today?” Ori nodded, unable to meet his brother's eye.  
“Here, put a little more on your plate, then. Need to keep your strength up so he doesn't tire you out!” the silver haired dwarf stated approvingly, heaping more food on Ori's already loaded plate.

Ori hummed noncommittally and tucked in to his breakfast, blushing a bit. Dori frowned at Nori over the young scribe's head when the star haired dwarf tried in vain to smother a snort into his mug, sloshing a bit of his morning ale over his lap. He shot a look across the table and Dwalin had the good grace to duck his head, masking his laughter as a coughing fit into his fist. Dori narrowed his eyes. What was he missing?

* * * * *

The company members were packing to leave. Ori was smoothing his loose sketches, those that he hadn't lost in the goblin tunnels, and packing them neatly between borrowed books in his new bag. Bilbo and Dori had worked long and hard to fashion packs and clothing from extra cloth Beorn could spare for all the dwarves who needed them, and they had specially made this pack for Ori's books. 

Ori smiled to himself as he finished, appreciative of the hobbit and his brother looking out for him this way. Somehow, he didn't feel so irritated by Dori's caretaking. 

Of course, Ori and Dwalin hadn't had nearly enough time together since that night by the garden, save for a few training sessions. Dori had somehow managed to wrangle Ori into every tedious task the older dwarf could think of. He had Ori helping with sewing, preparing food for their journey, gathering herbs and vegetables from the garden, anything he could come up with to keep him occupied. 

If Ori didn't know any better, he'd say Dori was intentionally trying to keep him too busy to have a free moment to himself. And by the time they were all settling in each night, Ori would all but collapse into his bedroll, too exhausted to move.

Now they were to move on, heading towards the dark forest of Mirkwood. The company mounted their borrowed ponies, Thorin again thanking their host for his assistance, and, much sooner than any would have liked, they were heading off.

* * * * *

Bilbo had been right. The forest was sick. Ori could feel it as surely as he could feel the crumbling stone path beneath his boots. He stumbled as he struggled to keep up with Dori ahead of him. He knew there was a time not long past when he had felt elated and giddy, but he could not even call those moments from his fuzzy head. 

Everything was muted, stifled in this dense foliage. When they made camp, Ori should write about the feeling. But even the thought of writing seemed too much trouble at the moment. He could barely focus enough to put one foot in front of the other, much less come up with a coherent thought.

The company halted gratefully at Thorin's command and silently prepared to make camp. There was no talk, no song or story from Bofur before they settled for the night. They had given up on trying to light a fire, as the wood was damp and moldy. The most that could be coaxed from the sickened bark was choking acrid smoke, then it would go out. Ori lay still under his blanket, staring up at the pitch black canopy above. He was restless and tense, and he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling that they were being watched. 

* * * * *

When Ori awoke, he flew into a panic. He was completely enclosed in a sticky stringy substance and no matter how he wriggled, he could not get himself free. Light filtered in dimly, but not enough for him to make out what exactly it was that held him. He heard movement around him, but couldn't manage to pick out a familiar sound from the scritch scratchy noises coming from all sides. 

Ori was still for a while, starting to feel quite dizzy at the sensation of being held upside down. Suddenly, there was a hurried scuttling sound, then everything went silent. He was startled by a sound like the sawing of rope, a grinding reverberating through the material around him, then he had the sensation of falling. Falling down and down until he hit solid ground with the crunch of leaves beneath him. He tried to wriggle himself loose again, but found it as useless as before. Ori wiggled and thrashed and felt reassured when he realized that Grasper was still strapped solidly to his back. 

A ripping sound grated through his little cocoon. Ori sighed in relief as a familiar rough hand reached through a huge slash in his prison and pulled him free. 

Dwalin. 

His relief was short lived as he emerged from the spider's silk to find they were completely surrounded by giant arachnids. He pulled the battle ax from his back with shaking hands and stood shoulder to shoulder with Dwalin, who shot him a reassuring look. 

“We can take em, scribbler,” the guard rumbled. 

Ori grinned determinedly and then turned to face their foe. It seemed those lessons had paid off. The two worked quite well together, slashing through the eight-legged monsters with relative ease.

Then the elves came. 

Ori shoved his way to Dwalin's side as their weapons were taken and they were forced to follow the guards of the elvish kingdom.

* * * * *

Ori sat against the bars of his prison, cold and stiff from being still for so long. He was beyond hopeless at this point, convinced they would all rot where they sat, decaying in the bowels of Thranduil's dungeons. What a contrast these elves were to those of Rivendell. Elrond's people and halls had been warm and welcoming. Thranduil's kingdom, however.......

Ori was pulled from his musings by a familiar voice calling out from the cell next to his.

“Ori? Ori, are ye hurt?” Dwalin's gruff voice was a balm to Ori's frayed nerves.  
“No. I'm fine,” Ori whispered back. He glanced across the walkway to be sure his eldest brother was sleeping on his cot. “Dwalin, do you think there's any chance we'll get out of here?”  
There was a calculating huff from the next cell. “I won' lie to ye lad, it doesn' look too promising.”  
Ori squeezed his eyes shut in defeat. “Have you seen Bilbo?”  
“Nah. Haven't seen him. Was too busy worrying about you than that halfling,” Dwalin replied.  
“Hobbit,” Ori correctly softly.  
“Whichever.”

Ori frowned in disapproval, even though he knew Dwalin wouldn't see. His next breath caught in his throat as the hobbit in question appeared from thin air before his cell. Ori couldn't remember ever having been so happy to see someone in all his life. 

Bilbo moved swiftly, unlocking all the cells and setting the dwarves free. He led them down winding halls and passageways, stopping for a moment to allow the dwarves to gather their weapons from an alcove where the hobbit had hidden them.

Ori jumped as a battle ax was thrust at him. He looked up and smiled warmly at Dwalin, who handed him Grasper and ran a soothing hand over the side of his face.

“How did you manage to gather these?” Thorin's voice was full of admiration as he questioned the hobbit next to Ori.  
Bilbo shook his head in response. “That's not important right now! But it was not easy, I'll have you know. Now quickly, down those stairs.”  
“Shouldn't we be moving upwards?” Dori asked the hobbit in bewilderment.  
“Please, you'll have to trust me, now hurry!” Bilbo implored. 

The company decided to do as they were bid, not that there was much of a choice, and followed the hobbit down into the wine cellar.  
Bilbo turned to face the dwarves and gestured to the barrels stacked before him.  
“In you go.”  
All the dwarves looked to Thorin in question.  
“Do as he says,” their king commanded. 

Well, into the barrels then. Ori was quite hesitant as he eyed the empty barrels stacked before him. Not that he didn't trust his hobbit friend, but this did not look promising. A warm hand graced his shoulder and he looked over to find Dwalin gazing at him with an encouraging smile.

“C'mon, my scribbler. This is nothin.” 

The two shared a warm glance before climbing in to the barrels, preparing for the next phase. Dori stood off to the side, watching this interaction with growing disapproval. What in the name of the Valar was his little brother doing, getting so friendly with the old guard? He climbed into his own barrel with a huff and mulled this over as he waited for their inevitable decent into what was sure to be frigid water.

The barrels shifted and began to roll, slowly at first, then more rapidly down into the churning river below. Ori tensed and his stomach gave a great lurch as his own barrel went free falling down and down. Then he slammed into the bottom as it hit the surface of the river, submerging him for just a moment, before it bobbed back to the surface like a cork. 

Ori caught his breath and scrambled up to clutch the rim of his barrel. He glanced around and reveled in the sight of his strong guard in a barrel not too far from him, looking like a drown rat, but no worse for wear. Then they began to move.

How strange it was, to witness what little of the following battle he did, as the company careened down the rapids in naught but wooden barrels, fending off orcs and elves alike. Ori spent the better part of the trip huddled in the bottom of his barrel, desperately trying not to vomit as they traveled further and further downstream. The sound of orcs and dwarves shouting and the clash of weapons was muffled to his ears, the roaring of the water the only thing he could hear clearly as he hid his face in his hands. 

When the vessel finally slowed, Ori was quite disoriented and dizzy as he staggered upright from his huddled state to peer over the side. He had washed up on shore somewhere, and his stomach sank when he realized there were no other barrels washing up near him. 

Ori pulled himself up as best he could and fumbled over the edge of the barrel, toppling over onto his back on the rocky shore of the river.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meddlesome brothers! So glad I'm the eldest in my family.

Dwalin leapt from his barrel before it had even hit the shore. He sloshed through the water and began frantically scanning the company for Ori as the barrels hit ground. 

Where was his scribbler?

“Ori?! Ori?!?!” the warrior felt dread and desperation sink like ice blocks in his stomach. He ran down the rocky coastline, hoping to see some sign of the red haired scribe further upstream. 

Finally Dwalin spotted his scribbler, but panic didn't release its icy grasp on him. He dropped to his knees on the unforgiving rock and pulled Ori into his lap. He was overcome with relief as he gazed down on a bewildered Ori, clearly breathing and blinking wildly up at him.

“I'm fine, I swear I'm alright,” Ori's voice calmed the remnants of Dwalin's terror and the larger dwarf closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He stood slowly and helped Ori to his feet as Dori came running over.

“Ori, are you alright?!” Dori was in a panic as he pulled his little brother close to examine his face, then yanked him into a fierce hug. “I thought we'd lost you! Don't scare me like that again! Here quick let's get you back to the rest of the group.” 

The silver haired dwarf dragged Ori back downstream. Dwalin took his time following, still a bit shaken and not at all ready to let the others see him so frazzled. 

Movement caught Dwalin's eye as he approached the company. A man. An armed man. Dwalin raced to Ori's side, as the scribe was dumping water from his boots, and armed himself with a tree branch. He placed himself between the scribe and the man, ready to defend him with his life.

An arrow pierced through Dwalin's makeshift weapon, another hit the rock from Kili's hands beside him. The bowman was good. 

“You're from Laketown?” Balin was always the most level headed in situations like this. 

Dwalin turned to pull Ori to his feet, but found that Dori had beat him to the punch. The guard scowled and turned away, focusing his attention back to the negotiations happening in front of him. 

* * * * *

Dwalin was not in the best humor as he sat shivering in the bowman's meager hut, wrapped in a blanket that was far from large enough. He had tumbled down a river in a barrel, given up the last of his coin to ride on a barge in the freezing cold while soaking wet, been stuffed back into a barrel, covered in smelly dead fish, then plunged back into the river only to crawl up through a toilet. 

No. He was not in the best humor. He sat fuming a little way from the rest of the company, scowling at the floor. Bard had left them with his children, and Dwalin was not impressed. What kind of man leaves his kids with a group of strange dwarves? 

Damn fool. 

Not that any of them would hurt a child. Children were sacred to dwarves, considering it was rare for a couple to be blessed with dwarflings. Perhaps the bowman knew this. In which case, perhaps Dwalin was the one being a damn fool. 

Dwalin huffed. He looked up at the company scattered throughout the little shack. They were all shivering, broken off into family groups or, in Thorin and Dwalin's case, brooding sulkily in solitude. Dwalin glared as his brother came sauntering over, smiling all too cheerfully and making himself comfortable next to him. 

“So, how's your little scribe?”  
Dwalin flinched inwardly. “I don't know what yer on about.”  
Balin elbowed him in the ribs. “I'm no fool, brother. But you are, if you think you can continue this little interlude without taking it up with the eldest Ri.”  
Dwalin flinched a bit more obviously at that. “I know,” he grumbled. 

Balin nodded lightly, satisfied, and said no more on the subject.  
“Have you noticed the change in our dark young prince?”  
“Hmm?”  
“He was getting awfully friendly with the guard captain of Mirkwood.”  
Dwalin frowned. “Nah, yer imaginin things now. S'no way he would sink that low. Young and reckless, but not completely stupid.”

Dwalin glanced at Kili anyway, trying to note any change in his stance.  
Hmm. The prince did look a bit lost in his own head. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? After all they'd just endured. Surely he wasn't..... 

Dwalin's thoughts were interrupted by the approach of one of the bowman's daughters. The littlest one. What was her name? Started with a T. She looked up at him with curious innocent blue eyes and he nearly melted. 

He'd always been a sucker for kids. 

“Mr. Dwarf? Would you care for another cup of tea? I've put a second kettle on,” her sweet voice was music to the old warriors ears.

Dwalin smiled warmly at the sweet little thing.  
“That would be lovely,” he said as softly as he could manage. He watched as she swished away with a twirl of her little skirt before he met Ori's gaze. 

Ori'd been watching him. He was beaming beautifully at the guard, clearly charmed at the sweet interaction. Dwalin found his cheeks were sore, and realized he'd been grinning like an idiot for the last minute and a half.

“Softy,” Balin muttered under his breath.

Dammit. 

* * * * *

At last, Dwalin was comfortable. Dry clothes, a warm room, and a plate full of food before him. Good thing he liked fish, as that was all there was to eat. Fish in every form you could imagine, and in some you'd wished nobody had bothered with. 

The master had thrown together quite the party, after being convinced he could make a large profit for offering his hospitality. Dwalin furrowed his brow as he remembered the master's cold eyes. He did not trust that man. He sighed and caught the young lass handing out mugs of ale. He was finally going to allow himself a little indulgence after so much hardship. He grabbed two, certain he would need the second before she came around again. 

The first mug went down within moments, and the second went down just as smoothly. By the time the feast was ending and the ladies and children were heading off to bed, Dwalin had lost track of how many ales he'd consumed.  
Not that it mattered too much. He was still pretty clear headed, but enjoying the warm buzz that tingled in the back of his skull. It was the perfect way to ease himself into a good night's sleep later. His gaze flickered up and was immediately drawn to Ori. Sweet, kind hearted, beautiful Ori. 

Dwalin watched as the scribe drained his own mug, then looked up at him from under his lashes with a dark and hungry look. Dwalin had never seen such a tempting look on the other dwarf and it shot straight to his groin. 

Oh for the love of Mahal. And Dori was glaring at him from Ori's side.  
Shit.  
Balin was right. He was going to have to talk with the eldest of the brothers Ri. 

Dwalin waited until Dori had excused himself from the table, then he made his way across the room, determined to catch up and pull Dori aside for a chat. He went up the stairs and had just headed around the corner and down the hall when he was grabbed from behind. 

Soft hands turned him around and pinned him lightly to the wall before plush lips pressed roughly against his. Dwalin wrapped his arms tightly around Ori, smoothing his hand in gentle circles on the smaller dwarf's back. Ori smiled against his mouth and pulled back.

“I've been waiting to do that for weeks now,” Ori whispered.  
“Mirkwood was not kind,” Dwalin replied with a warm smile.  
Ori brushed his nose against the guards and stepped away.  
“Dori will be waiting for me,” he said with a disappointed look.  
“I know. Ye don have to explain.” Dwalin brushed a hand over one of Ori's braids then watched as the dwarf walked away. 

Yea, he was goin soft. 

He sighed to himself before he was yanked around roughly and slammed back into the wall, a fist connecting with his face with the force of a war-hammer.

“What in Durin's name do you think you're doing, Dwalin Fundinson!!” Dori's was red-faced and furious as he roared at the guard.  
Dwalin shook himself and struggled to grab at his bleeding nose.  
“Dori! Dammit Dori, I'm sorry, I meant ta tell ya-”  
“That you've been looking at my baby brother like a piece of meat? Or that you're pulling him into dark corners and taking advantage of him?”

Dwalin groaned. “It's not like that, Dori. I-”  
“You what, love him?”  
“Yes!”  
“Then leave him alone, Dwalin! Ori is far too young and naive to know what he really wants and you are far too old to take his future from him! You should know better! He deserves a dwarf who's young and whole! Not some battle scarred old.....” Dori caught the pained look on Dwalin's face and his scowl lessened. “I mean....”

Dori's cold words were worse than the sock to his face.  
“Don't you think I know that?!” Dwalin roared at Dori. “Don't you think I'm aware that he deserves better than me?!”  
Dori let go of the guard and stepped back, immediately regretting his temper.  
“I tried to stay away from him. Tried from the very beginning!”  
Dori shook his head. “I didn't mean that you're-”  
“I'll not touch him again. Ya have my word,” Dwalin said angrily to the floor as he turned and retreated to his room. 

Dwalin's chest felt like it was being crushed beneath a lead weight. He wasn't going to cry, really, he wasn't. He kept trying to keep a hold on himself as his door slammed shut behind him. He threw himself back against the unforgiving wood as a wet sob escaped him. The tears came without his permission, running in streams down his face and clinging to the bristle of his beard. 

Fuck. He was an old fool. He knew it. He had known it all along. But he'd talked himself into thinking he could have Ori anyway. Like the selfish bastard he knew himself to be. He was meant to be alone. There was a reason he'd kept himself closed off so tightly. Old broken warriors like him didn't get to hold on to love.

Well, he would put a stop to this. And the sooner they got to Erebor, the better. It would be much easier to avoid the scribe in the endless halls beneath the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Dwalin's sensitive side. And for some strange reason, I love to torture him. I'm not sorry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little of Dori's POV, and we're off to the mountain!
> 
> Enjoy!

Ori sighed and put down his quill. It was a lost cause. He couldn't focus enough to write anything coherent. They were leaving in the morning, and he hadn't seen more than a glimpse of Dwalin since that night in the hall. The guard kept to his rooms, the latch bolted, refusing to answer when Ori knocked. If he did come out, it was only to meet with Thorin and work on preparations for their departure. He knew Dwalin was avoiding him, and he couldn't help but wonder why. He'd thought things were going well. Not that they had gotten much of a chance to be together, but he had thought that maybe.... well, it didn't matter now what he thought. 

The next leg of their journey was crucial, and Dwalin had an important role to play in it, being the future king's personal guard and best friend. Dwalin already seemed quite distracted and downtrodden, and Ori wasn't about to make it worse by forcing his presence on the guard when it wasn't wanted. 

Ori packed away his things and tried to shrug off the bleak emptiness. Maybe when they were on the road again, things would be better.

* * * * *

Things were not any better. Dwalin was avoiding Ori outright. Every time Ori tried to approach him, the dwarf would turn as though he hadn't seen him and find something to busy himself. He wouldn't even look at the scribe, and Ori was getting more and more upset. His appetite was failing, and he couldn't find sleep no matter how exhausted he was. His sour mood did not go unnoticed. 

Dori eyed his brother as the company sat around the fire, finishing their meal. Bofur had started playing his fiddle and Fili and Kili were making up vulgar lyrics as the tune carried on. But Dori wasn't watching. He was too focused on his brother next to him. Ori was staring blankly into the flames, bowl untouched, an empty look in his eyes Dori had never seen before.

“Ori?” Dori nudged his little brother with a knee.  
Ori's response was to jump up quickly and leave the circle, grabbing his bedroll and hunkering down just outside the light of the fire. Dori frowned after him, bewildered. Ori had never appeared so distressed before. Dori turned his gaze back to the fire and suddenly, he understood. 

Dwalin sat across from him, leaning alone against a tree. He was staring up at the sky, his trademark scowl on his face. Dori watched through the flames as Dwalin shifted his gaze and let his eyes linger where Ori had just disappeared. A pained expression twisted the guards face and he turned away quickly, but Dori swore he saw moisture in those dark eyes.

Oh dear. 

* * * * *

Ori pinched his eyes shut against the tears that refused to stop as he lay beneath his blanket. What could have possibly happened? Why was Dwalin avoiding him? Had he gotten bored with him? Ori tossed and turned as the questions swirled through his mind. Obviously the warrior was done with him, and that was all there was to it.

Ori buried his face in his pillow, muffling a broken sob. A hand ran softly over his head, and he glanced up to see Dori leaning over him. 

“Go away, Dori!” Ori's voice was thick with misery and he turned roughly away from his brother and slammed himself into the ground.  
“Ori, please, I need to talk to you. I-”  
“I said go away! I'm not in the mood for your mothering right now!”

Dori fidgeted, then thought maybe this wasn't the best time to be telling Ori what he'd done. It would have to wait until morning. Dori turned and walked away, giving his little brother the space he so obviously needed. He was so distracted he didn't notice Nori heading towards him with a livid look in his eye until the dwarf had grabbed him by the beard and dragged him away from prying eyes. 

Nori stopped and shoved his older brother in front of him. Dori staggered a bit, then turned to face his younger brother, fuming.  
“Nori, what's gotten into you?”  
“What. Did you. Do?” Nori demanded dangerously.  
Dori picked nervously at his tunic. “Oh, well.....”  
“What did you do, Dori?!”  
“I may have had..... a conversation with Dwalin.... about...”  
Nori stepped closer, putting a finger in his brother's face. “Fix it. I don't care how, I don't care what you have to do, just fix it.”  
He turned tail and marched back in to camp, leaving a frazzled Dori feeling even more guilty than he had before. He hadn't meant to make a mess of things. He didn't realize that.....  
Oh drat.  
Yes he would have to fix this.

* * * * *

The next day, Ori proved just as unresponsive as the previous night. He shoved roughly past Dori every time the dwarf tried to speak to him. Dori wondered if maybe his little brother had some idea he was to blame, or if he was simply lashing out where he felt safest. 

How was Dori ever going to make things right when he couldn't even get his brother to listen, and never mind trying to reason with Dwalin. The dwarf was in obvious agony, eyes burning with constant grief and any attempt to get close to him did not go well for anyone, save Balin and Thorin. It was most difficult at any rate to have a personal conversation with anyone as the company was on high alert, searching for the hidden door. 

Dori groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. What a disaster. He was supposed to take care of Ori, not make him miserable. He had promised mother. Promised her that Ori would have a good life. That Dori would do everything he could to be sure the lad was well cared for and happy. And he was failing miserably.

It all made sense, now. Ori had been quite upbeat and bubbly since their stay at Beorn's. And the soft looks he had glimpsed between his brother and the guard? The brush of hands and warm exchanges between the two? He'd never seen his brother so happy, and he'd certainly never seen the guard so smitten. And now he had spoiled everything.

Dori was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a voice announce they had found the door. 

Time to climb.  
And deal with a dragon, who was sure to be most unhappy about their arrival.  
Oh dear.

* * * * *

Ori thumbed through the book in his hands as the other dwarves scrambled to find the key hole. What had they missed? His book held no clue, just specifics on the rule of Thror and the tense peace the dwarves of Erebor shared with the elves of Mirkwood. 

There was not much else Ori could do, what with the other dwarves scouring every inch of the mountain side, there wasn't even room for Ori to help. 

Ori sighed and shut his book, standing up to see if there was any sign that somebody had found the key hole. The grim faces studying the solid rock were probably not a good sign. Ori's eyes lingered on Dwalin as his already grim face took on an even darker shadow. He reached out a tentative hand as Dwalin passed, but the guard swept by without even the slightest glance in his direction. Ori tensed and fought fiercely against the tears that pricked at his eyes. 

It would be easier if he could find anger within himself instead of this all consuming sorrow. 

Ori shook himself, putting on a determined face and shoved past Dori, ignoring him as surely as Dwalin had ignored Ori a moment ago. 

Forget all of them. He was supposed to be proving his capability of caring for himself, wasn't he? He didn't need any of them.

* * * * *

Ori sat angrily next to the open cavern of the hidden door. Thorin had eagerly all but thrown Bilbo in to the mountain, impatient to take back his kingdom. 

One would think their leader didn't care if the hobbit lived or died at this point, and Ori found his anger being directed toward the king. Stupid pompous ass. Bilbo was one of his dearest friends, and seeing his life so easily gambled brought fire to the scribes heart. The waiting was becoming unbearable as the dwarves stood around idly. Nobody said a word and the air was thick and heavy with anxiety. 

With an explosive crash the whole mountain shook, a deafening roar and the sound of grinding rock brought the whole company to their feet. 

So the dragon lived.

Ori stood and ran to the hidden door. He was overcome with panic for his dear friend.  
“What about Bilbo?!”  
“Give him more time,” Thorin's response was cold, and his voice sounded strained.  
“Time to do what? To be killed?” Balin asked incredulously.  
“I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar.”  
“Bilbo. His name is Bilbo.”

Ori felt panic rise in his throat. Please, Mahal tell him they were going to do something! He watched the company around him with mounting dread. Nobody was going to move. Nobody was going after Bilbo. He glanced around at his companions, all harboring shamed and worried looks. His eyes lingered over Dwalin, and he flinched when the guard met his gaze. The absolute agony in his eyes was like a blow to Ori's heart, and was quickly overtaken by a look of anguished longing. Ori couldn't hold that gaze for long, so intense was the ache. He shifted his position so that Balin and Thorin stood between himself and the guard. He couldn't handle such emotions right now.

After what felt like hours, but must have been merely minutes, the king seemed to snap back to himself. He raised his head from its pensive gaze somewhere below, and tore down the dark hallway into the mountain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the mountain! I didn't go into full detail with this one, as I wanted to keep it close to movie canon, and saw no point in describing movie scenes too much.  
> As such, this chapter is a little shorter, but I may get another one up today! Enjoy!

Dwalin watched in alarm as Thorin tore down the corridor into the mountain.

What the hell was that bastard thinking?!

There was no time to dwell on it. He stormed after his king, damning him the whole way for making him chase after into what was sure to be a fiery death. His footsteps echoed off the stone, until the tunnel suddenly opened into a vast cavern. The sight before him took his breath away, and he stumbled the last few steps to Thorin's side as he took in the impossibly vast collection of gold before them.

There wasn't much time to take in the scenery. Smaug was advancing toward them, pulling in air to ready the deadly flame of his breath. 

Time to go.

Dwalin didn't think much past that. He wheeled around to see the rest of the company flying towards him and he was knocked sideways a bit as Ori slammed bodily into his side. He grabbed the scribe by the front of his coat, yanking him into a leap of faith as they narrowly escaped incineration. They landed in a jumbled heap of knees and elbows, then scrambled over scattered gold coins and flung themselves through a nearby doorway.

Dwalin grabbed at Thorin as the king fell through the door behind him, his cloak ablaze Dwalin quickly pulled the flaming fabric from his friends back, throwing it to the ground and stomping out the flames. 

“Come on.” The company immediately followed their kings command, and nobody needed to be told twice to get as far from the dragon as possible. 

* * * * *

Dwalin couldn't help the twinge of guilt in his gut as he watched the city of Laketown burn. They had brought this upon those people. Those men guilty of nothing but trying to make a living in the shadow of the mountain. 

Was this the cost of taking back their kingdom? And what else would it cost them, Dwalin wondered as he looked back at his king. His friend. And he couldn't recognize the dwarf behind those cold blue eyes. 

History, it seemed, would be determined to repeat itself. 

* * * * *

The dragon was dead. The mountain was theirs. But Dwalin felt no joy in it. His heart was full of dread as the company combed through the overwhelming treasure hoard. The sight of their dead flashed in his mind every time he closed his eyes. That hopeless cavern now a tomb. A tomb where loved ones past had been sealed in, doomed to never escape.  
His loved ones. Lost.  
His new love lost.  
And now, his king lost. Thorin Oakenshield was no more. All that remained was the greed of the dragon. 

* * * * *

Dwalin looked up and watched Thorin as the king berated his brother. What had his friend become? 

“Am I not the king?!” Thorin's voice echoed harshly through the ruins of the throne room. 

“Know this. If any should find it, and withhold it from me, I will be avenged.” The dangerous tone in Thorin's voice dripped with venom and hung in the air as thick and acrid as the stench of dragon. The king gave them one last livid look and swept from the room.

Dwalin exchanged a look of abject horror with Balin, trying to ignore the tears pooling in his brothers eyes. But oh, how he understood. He shook his head and strode from the room, despair hanging over him like a dark cloud.

* * * * *

The gate had been sealed. The dwarves had worked long into the night, piling stone from the rubble of a once lively kingdom and blocking the front gate. 

Dori lay in his bedroll, trying to take advantage of the short reprieve they were granted by their mad king. Breaks were few and far between, since the dragon had been defeated. Thorin was determined to find the Arkenstone at any and all costs, and Dori knew the king was lost. Everything was looking bleak at the moment, but he would do whatever he could to change the things he could. Starting with making things right for his brother. 

Dori rose from his spot on the floor, putting on a determined face, and slowly approached his little brother.

“Ori?” he whispered to the back the scribes head. There was no response.  
“Ori, listen to me. There's something I need to tell you.” Dori took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. “I... I had a run-in with Dwalin....”  
“A run-in?” Ori's head turned slightly. “What does that even mean?” Ori sounded annoyed, but these were his first words to Dori in a long while, so he pressed on.  
“I said... some things.”  
Ori turned to face his brother properly.  
“Said what things?” 

Dori looked down, unable to meet his little brothers eye.  
“I may have.... been a bit harsh with him,” Dori fidgeted nervously.  
Ori's frown turned livid.  
“I had seen you two... kissing... in the hallway and I was beside myself!” The words were pouring out now, as Dori tried desperately to explain, “I confronted him and-”

Ori let out an angry growl. “What did you do Dori?!”  
Dori sighed. “Well, for starters, I'm fairly certain I broke his nose.”  
“You WHAT?!”  
“I was just trying to protect you!”  
“Protect me from what, a kiss? Companionship? Love? WHAT did you say to him?!”  
Ori looked positively furious as he scrubbed his hands over his face.  
“Well... I may have.... told him... he was too old for you. That you deserved better and.... you're too young to know what you were getting yourself into.” 

Ori's eyes were murderous as they met Dori's. “Too old? Don't know what I'm getting myself into? Do you have ANY idea what you've done!? How could you- Why would you-”  
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Durin's fucking beard.”  
He shook his head and leveled Dori with a threatening look. “Dammit Dori, do me a favor and stop trying to protect me!” Ori got up and stormed off in a huff, losing himself down a corridor. 

Dori sighed. Well that went well. He wondered when Ori had developed such a foul tongue. There was nothing to be done about that now. Hopefully there would be time to find Dwalin and try to apologize. Although, considering the amount of time the guard spent trying to lose himself in the vast halls, Dori thought there was probably not much chance of him being found. With a groan of frustration, Dori got up and decided he would try looking for Dwalin anyway. 

Before Dori had even decided where to look first, the king was calling them all to the gate. 

* * * * *

Dwalin stood before the stranger wearing his king's crown.  
“Thorin, they're dying out there.”  
His friend wasn't there to hear him. There was only the dragon. Only the sick gold lust spoke back, planning and scheming on how they would survive with their hoard. Dwalin's stomach sank.  
“Did you not hear me? They are being slaughtered, Thorin,” he pleaded, and his face hid none of the turmoil roiling through him.

Thorin's response was lacking in any and all sign of logic or reason or honor.

Worth all the blood we can spend? How? This was not Thorin Oakenshield. 

“I am your king!”  
“You were always my king! You knew that once.”  
“Go. Go now. Before I kill you.”

Dwalin turned and walked away, feeling more broken and lost than ever before. More hopeless than any day on the road in exile, than during the battle for Azanulbizar. He had lost it all. The image of his wife and child flashed behind his eyes, their remains among the other dwarves that had been trapped and perished in the forsaken mountain. His king, his best friend, now unrecognizable, lost to madness. And his scribbler..... 

Tears spilled over his cheeks and he wondered with little humor how he'd managed to cry more in the last few days than he had ever remembered doing in his life.

Dwalin strode through the door and noticed with irritation that Dori stood waiting for him in an outer hall. There was no fucking way he was stopping. Dwalin did not have the strength to be beaten down anymore. He strode around the silver haired dwarf, trying to keep his tears from being seen.

“Dwalin please, wait!” Great. Now Dori was following him.  
“I haven't touched yer brother since our friendly little talk,” Dwalin spat.  
“But Dwalin, wait, I-”  
“No Dori. Leave me be. I've been dealt enough pain today.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! Hope you enjoy!

Ori was overwhelmed by the carnage before him. They had charged out behind Thorin, battle cries and chants of “To the king!!” echoing over the clamor of swords and spears striking into shields and the screams of the injured and dying surrounding them. 

There had been no time, no chance since talking to Dori to get to Dwalin and explain. To chew him out for listening to his older brother, for not respecting Ori's wishes and trusting in him. Dwalin had spent what free time he had alone, and Ori had no hope of finding him in the unfamiliar halls and caverns. Now, the thought of losing Dwalin before ever having made amends sent horror through him like none he had ever felt. He would be sure they survived this. This was not to be their end.

Dwalin and the princes had been flanking the king, but now he could not find any of them. Ori searched the sea of warriors for his brothers, and found they were holding their own just fine, Dori's brute strength and Nori's stealth making them the perfect team. While Dori would take the enemy on, two or three at a time, Nori could easily maneuver around, using his daggers to disarm and kill the unsuspecting orcs. Ori continued scanning and finally located Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin over the carnage, scaling Raven Hill astride a handful of rams. 

Ori's heart pounded in his chest as he realized Dwalin would not be within his sight for much longer. Without a second thought, he ran. He dodged orc and dwarf alike, zig-zagging across the battlefield. His vision went hazy as he sprinted over bodies of the fallen, ignoring the voices yelling after him. He finally reached Ravenhill and took a few gulps of air before running as fast as his legs would take him up the path cut into the hillside.

* * * * *

By the time he reached the top, Ori's lungs were burning. Beads of sweat rolling down his back nearly froze to his skin in the cold wind. He braced his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his heaving breath as he looked around. The sounds of battle were echoing from the halls before him, and he was unsure of which way to go. 

Suddenly, he heard Dwalin's voice roaring in rage and he ran with overwhelming urgency towards the sound. He sprinted down a passageway as the sound became louder and the clash of swords echoed more solidly through the stone hall. 

Finally, the passageway opened into a clearing. He was standing behind a couple dozen orcs, all focused on Dwalin and Bilbo on the other side of the room. Ori swallowed as he watched Bilbo charge an orc easily three times his size. Thankfully, it seemed Bilbo had been practicing his swordsmanship, as he managed to disarm his opponent, with a little difficulty, and run him through. 

Ori felt nearly frozen on the spot watching his friend fight such fearsome opponents. His attention was quickly pulled from the hobbit, and his heart lurched in his chest as Dwalin's voice carried over the clamor. 

“Bilbo, go to Thorin, now!”  
“You'll never hold them off alone! I can't leave you to your death!”  
“Oh yes ya can, and ya will! Thorin needs ya, lad!”

Ori watched as Bilbo glanced at Dwalin clearly torn, then dodged another wild swing from an orc's club. The hobbit frowned as he mulled over the warriors words and with a roar of frustration, he quickly broke from the fight, giving Dwalin one last farewell glance as he ran off to save the king.

The look Dwalin had given Bilbo was dripping with the intent of a final good bye, and it filled Ori with fury. He raged out into the cluster of battle hungry orcs, ax swinging and orc blood splattering as he determinedly pushed his way towards Dwalin. The warrior was holding his own, but was quickly becoming over run. Ori glanced up from his slow progression and watched in horror as an orc spear pierced the warrior's shoulder, Dwalin's shout of pain drowning out all else in the scribes ears. The world seemed to stop as Dwalin struggled to lift his ax, but stumbled back, the orcs quickly taking the advantage.

Ori's pulse roared in his head as absolute determination and rage engulfed every fiber of his being like an inferno. He let out a bellowing war cry louder than any such a small body should be able to house. He pushed through towards the injured warrior with renewed vigor. 

Dwalin was hurt. He needed him. 

The orcs turned their attention to the smaller dwarf and Dwalin froze in surprise as the scribe advanced. The guard was completely in awe at the sight of his little scribbler hacking his way towards him, using one of the warriors own axes. When finally Ori had reached Dwalin's side, he stood protectively before him, shielding him from the hoard of orcs. 

“Get up, Dwalin! I will not let you die today!” Ori shouted as he cut down every orc that dared to get close. Dwalin stared at him in astonishment before finally hoisting himself to his feet and taking up his ax. 

Ori did not know how long they fought. It may have been hours. It may have been days. It was all a blur of screams and blood and sweat and bit off curses in Khuzdul as the two dwarves hacked through the enemy. After what felt like an eternity, Dwalin and Ori stood alone, covered in sticky black orc blood and nearly collapsing from their efforts. Dwalin's left arm hung uselessly at his side and a steady stream of blood was trickling down his fingers. He crumpled to the ground, hunching over as his body heaved with the pain of his breaths.

Wordlessly, Ori hit his knees next to the warrior and pulled him gently down, cradling his head in his lap. The scribe pulled off his old tattered coat and ripped off a sleeve with his teeth. He folded it carefully and then tied it tightly around the wound. Dwalin looked up at the smaller dwarf, a silent thanks in his eyes, before he dropped his head in exhaustion, his eyes closing in silent relief. Ori ran reassuring fingers over the guards beard and stared up at the eagle filled sky. 

* * * * *

The war was over. Ori stood outside a tiny healing tent, waiting. It had only been a few short hours since he and Dwalin had faced battle together, and the guard had passed out from blood loss and exhaustion. Ori groaned in frustration. Waiting was worse than fighting orcs.

The dwarf tending to Dwalin was a good healer, he had been assured, and had taken care of many a warrior. Still, Ori couldn't help but worry. He wrung his hands and counted the minutes until he could finally see Dwalin again with his own eyes. 

Ori wished it was Oin seeing to Dwalin's wounds, but the healer was too busy in the other tent, tending to Thorin and his nephews. Ori shuddered again as he thought of the two young princes on death's door in the larger healing tent. His dearest friends were fighting for their lives, save for Bilbo, who stopped by every hour or so to ask for news of Dwalin. Ori appreciated the hobbit's support, and felt for him, as Dain had been refusing to let Bilbo in to see the king and princes. 

Finally, with the rustling of canvas, the healer stepped out, giving Ori a nod. Ori leapt to his feet and hurried through, desperate to see Dwalin whole.

Dwalin sat on the edge of a low cot staring blankly at the floor. His arm was secured in a tightly wrapped sling, his tattooed chest bare. Cuts and bruises marred his already scarred flesh, but other than that, he looked fairly unharmed. 

The healer had already left and, Ori was thankful to notice, and the two were completely alone. Ori swallowed and took a few tentative steps forward.  
“How do you feel?” he asked softly.  
Dwalin tensed and scowled pointedly at the floor. 

“Like shit,” the warrior answered shortly.  
Ori fidgeted with his knitted gloves and bit his lip. His head snapped up as Dwalin stood a little unsteadily from his cot.   
“What-” he began angrily as he finally looked up at Ori's face, “the HELL- were ya THINKING?!” 

Ori frowned, then clenched his jaw and straightened his spine meeting Dwalin's fierce eye.   
“I was thinking I'd rather you not end up DEAD, you great idiot!” he shot back.

Dwalin stormed angrily across the room towards the smaller dwarf.  
“You think I would rather it had been YOU who ended up dead?! What is it to you if an old broken angry bastard gets himself killed in battle?! Yer young and have a whole life ahead of ya! Why would ye risk throwin all that away for the likes of me?!” he bellowed.

Ori's face softened as he let out an exasperated sigh. “The same reason you would throw yourself into danger for the likes of me,” he nearly whispered.

“Ye don't have any idea what yer on about!” If anything, Dwalin looked even more enraged, though his voice had lowered a bit. 

“Oh don't I? I know what I'm about!” It was Ori's turn to scowl, and he took a couple steps forward so he could jab his finger in Dwalin's chest. “Don't you dare, Dwalin! You and I both know why you've been so distant! Why you've been avoiding me at every turn! I know Dori got to you, and you were daft enough to listen to him, you stupid ass! What did he say to you?” 

Dwalin closed his eyes and sighed morosely, shaking his head. “It doesn' matter.”  
“No. No it doesn't matter what Dori said.” Ori said firmly as he strode the last few steps over to stand before Dwalin. “It doesn't matter one bit.”

Ori threw his arms around Dwalin's neck and slammed their mouths together, kissing him awkwardly at first, but soon their mouths found the familiar dance of sliding tongues and nipping teeth. Ori melted further into Dwalin's body as a strong arm wrapped tightly around his waist and crushed them together. Then suddenly, Dwalin pulled back as quickly as he'd given in and shoved him away. 

“Ye don't know what yer getting yerself into, little scribbler. Ye can't want this,” Dwalin growled out in anguish. 

Ori grabbed Dwalin's waist and pulled himself into the solid body of the warrior, leveling him with eyes full of fire and want.   
“Oh yes, I am very well aware of what I'm getting into,” Ori's voice was low and dangerous. “And how DARE you tell me what I am allowed to want, you stubborn bastard. I. Want. You.” 

With that, Ori shoved Dwalin backwards onto the bed, scrambling up to straddle the large dwarf and kiss him in earnest. Dwalin growled low in his chest and pulled Ori closer, grasping the back of his head and tangling his hand in coarse red hair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, without further ado, smut. Hope nobody minds.  
> Enjoy!  
> At least I hope you enjoy.  
> *cringes*

Dwalin was completely dumbfounded. Was this real? There was no chance, if you told him at the beginning of the day, he would ever have believed he would find himself here. In his tent, half naked, pinned to his cot by the young scribe he had been trying to avoid for weeks. And the scribbler was fierce, meeting Dwalin's intensity with equal fervor, only proving that yes, Ori knew what he wanted. If there were still any doubts in Dwalin's mind, the insistent grind of hardened flesh pressing against his own through tight leather was a dead give away. 

“You stubborn old fool. Try to tell me I can't have what I want most.” Ori grumbled as he yanked off his tunic, still straddling Dwalin's hips. “You think you could possibly inform me that I don't know what I need.” Ori flung his tunic to the ground, not caring one bit where it landed.

Dwalin's irritation was inflamed again and he shoved the smaller dwarf off him and pinned him to the cot with his good hand. “Maybe I know better than you what ya deserve!”

Ori ripped his gloves and scarf off and threw them to the floor angrily, glaring up at the impressive warrior above him. “It doesn't matter what you think I deserve! What about you? What if I know best what YOU deserve?”  
Dwalin frowned all the more. “What if I'm not what you need?!”  
“I know what I need! And it's not someone else making my decisions!”

“And what exactly is it that you think you know so well?! What is it ya need then, if yer so sure of yerself?!” Dwalin roared back. 

Ori grabbed Dwalin by the beard and pulled him close until their noses were touching. “I need you, you fucking idiot.” 

Dwalin's eyes were like saucers and his eyebrows shot up at the aggressive, crass words falling from such a typically mild mannered mouth. His astonishment was used against him as Ori took the advantage and shoved him down again, scrambling back up onto his perch. 

“I thought you were going to die, you great stubborn moron!” the scribe continued yelling as he finished removing his under tunic. “I thought you were going to die, and I would never get to be near you again! Never hear you, or feel your skin on mine or breathe your air..... never tell you-” Ori's voice cracked and he kissed Dwalin's lips with intensity, pouring his emotions into it and finally his ire dissipated. He seemed completely deflated as a wrecked sob escaped his throat. 

Dwalin nibbled gently at Ori's bottom lip then pulled back to look at him.  
“I'm sorry.” He pushed them both up to sitting with his good arm. “I'm sorry, Ori. I never should have.... I didn't realize...” he sighed. “No, I did. I did realize...-” why was he so horrible with words?

Thankfully, Ori seemed to understand, and pulled him in for another kiss. This one slower, less angry, and more passionate. Dwalin nearly purred as soft fingers combed through what little hair he had left. Ori pulled back and smiled warmly at him. 

“If ye still need.... I mean, if yer still wantin to yell at me, ye could finish undressing if ye'd like,” Dwalin rumbled breathily, “I'll continue being an idiot if it makes ye hot.” 

Ori laughed. “Oh I am not nearly finished with you.” 

Ori rolled to the side and began working at the laces of his pants. He knew exactly what he wanted, but nerves were getting the better of him in the face of actually getting it. His fingers fumbled over tightly laced leather, and Dwalin tried to help with his one useful hand. After a little difficulty and a few choice words of frustration, they were both laying naked under the thick furs on Dwalin's cot.

“I really wanted to wait until we had a proper bed to do this,” Dwalin said regretfully, “or a proper door, at least.”  
“I almost lost you today, and I will not be waiting around to finally be with you until it's convenient,” Ori was adamant, and he was going to get what he wanted one way or another.

Dwalin turned so the two were face to face and he gave Ori another long, lingering kiss. He would tell his scribbler they didn't have to do this, but he knew it would only piss him off.  
Then again.....  
“You know, we don' have to do this.” Oh, the effect was immediate. Fire erupted in Ori's eyes and the feisty scribe was on him in an instant.  
“Of all the stupid ridiculous-” Ori's scolding was abruptly cut off when he was hit with the sensation of Dwalin's bare flesh against his. 

Oh. OH that was nice. Ori melted down into Dwalin's chest so their heated skin met from chest to toes and the most beautiful groan fell from his lips. Dwalin smirked arrogantly and rolled his hips up just a little. Ori moaned pleasantly as his hardened cock dragged deliciously against Dwalin's. 

Dwalin looked up at Ori grinning deviously, his eyes awash with unbridled desire. He slowly sat up from the bed, then placed a gentle hand on Ori's shoulder. He guided the scribe back, sliding his legs from under the smaller dwarf, and laid him down on the blanket. Ori swallowed audibly as Dwalin knelt between his legs. 

This wasn't going to work. Dwalin would not be half impaired when he finally took his scribbler, dammit. He grabbed the bandages that wound around his shoulder and pulled until they ripped. There was a sound of tearing cloth as the wrappings were forcibly removed and unceremoniously cast to the floor. 

Ori gave Dwalin a worried look, but the determination in Dwalin's face silenced him. Dwalin was a dwarf on a mission.

The guard leaned over Ori, reaching over to search the table beside the bed.  
Healing salve? Well why not. That would do fine.  
He sat back up and popped off the lid of the little tin. He drug his fingers through the slippery substance before setting the tin down on the blankets by his knee. 

Ori spread his thighs a little more to give more room to work and Dwalin's hand shook slightly as he slid a careful finger over pale skin and pressed it gently against Ori's entrance. He watched the red head carefully for any signs of pain as he slowly slid in to the first knuckle. 

“Relax, Ori,” Dwalin whispered. Ori closed is eyes and his face screwed up in concentration, a startled gasp escaping his lips as Dwalin pushed his thick digit the rest of the way in. 

The sensation was..... strange. Ori felt slight discomfort until Dwalin's finger brushed over something he'd only ever read about in the most vulgar books. He threw his head back as little breathy groans fell from his mouth. 

Dwalin watched with growing impatience as he played Ori's body like a harp. Oh, the dwarf was tempting. It took everything he had to continue preparing the scribe instead of damning it all and taking him as he was. The second finger was added easily, which was a blessing as Dwalin's wrist was beginning to cramp and his cock was throbbing painfully and he couldn't keep from burying himself in that welcoming heat for much longer.

Dwalin withdrew his fingers, dragging them through the tin of ointment again and slicked himself. He placed the head of his cock against the slick opening, taking a moment to steady himself. He gently began to slide in, eliciting a sharp pained intake of breath from the dwarf beneath him. Well that wouldn't do. 

Dwalin leaned forward, hovering over the tense scribe.  
“Ori?” eyelids fluttered and he was met with a nervous gaze. “Breathe, Ori. Relax.” He ran a calming hand through his scribbler's hair. “Ye gotta let me in.” 

Dwalin flicked his tongue over a pouting lip before taking Ori's mouth in a heated kiss. He felt the body beneath him beginning to relax, allowing him so slide in horribly slowly, inch by agonizing inch until his hips came flush with warm flesh. 

Dwalin felt as though he were on fire. Just the feel of Ori around him was driving him absolutely mad. He used every bit of his strength and waited until Ori's face released a bit of tension before he rocked his hips experimentally. Hands flew to his chest and a broken moan fell from kiss swollen lips. He took it as encouragement and rolled his hips again, setting a gentle, languid pace. Ori adjusted quickly and soon the scribe was mewling and arching beneath him. 

“Harder,” the scribe demanded in a low groan.  
“Ori.....” Dwalin wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself if he dropped his control now.  
“Please?” Ori stared back at him, his pleading eyes nearly ripping Dwalin's heart out. “Dwalin, please?” 

The broken sound of Ori begging was nearly enough to undo the guard right there. How could he deny him, when he begged so prettily?

With a feral growl, Dwalin released his tenuous control and let burning instinct take over. His hips snapped violently into the scribes, the delicious wet sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the tent. Hands scrabbled for purchase at his shoulders, and he felt a little thrill in knowing there would be marks left in his skin. He wrapped a hand around Ori's cock and stroked in time with his thrusts, making the scribe thrash all the more.

“Dwalin! I'm-” the length in his hand spasmed and Ori keened beneath him. Oh, to hear his name falling from that mouth as he watched his scribbler come undone. He was not far from following, and he picked up his pace, chasing his completion. 

Finally he felt his end nearing and his legs were cramping and there was something warm running down his arm. He smeared a hand through the thick red liquid dripping over Ori's chest and he couldn't care less as his own orgasm tore through him like dragon fire. He roared with the intensity of it, eyes rolling back and his body arching like a bowstring as his hips jerked sporadically. He rode out the aftershocks, his breaths uneven as he collapsed onto the sated body below him. His vision was hazy and he felt a gratifying exhaustion trying to smother him. 

“Dwalin? Your stitches.”

Oh. Well that made sense. It took everything he had left to push himself off of Ori's limp form and flop onto the cot next to him. He was unconscious before his head hit the blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anger, blood, and smut.  
> Yes! Only one chapter to go!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The last chapter. It kind of leaves off a bit awkwardly, but here it is anyway! I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have!
> 
> Thank you to all who have left kudos and comments! All my love to you!

Ori tried not to panic as he looked over the limp guard next to him. Dwalin's body was littered with scars old and new, and his left arm was covered in fresh blood. But the dwarf's face was more peaceful than he'd ever seen it before, the corner of his mouth drawn up in what was almost a small smile, even as he lay unconscious. 

Ori should get the healer. He threw a blanket over Dwalin's naked lower half and quickly found his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly in a mad dash to go find Oin. 

Ori was thrilled when he ran into Oin just beyond the entrance to the tent. Now that the king and princes were stable, the healer had found a moment to come and check on the other dwarves. As capable as the other healers may be, Oin would not be satisfied until he had seen every member of their company with his own eyes. 

For Dwalin, this was not necessarily a good thing. 

Oin was furious when he saw the state of Dwalin's arm, and after reviving the guard, he was not gentle in the restitching. Ori flinched as another pained gasp fell from his warriors mouth. 

“You brought this on yourself, lad! Couldn't have waited for at least few days?!” Oin cuffed Dwalin over the back of the head again. “Pulled stitches. Honestly! Why did they not wrap your arm up tight so you couldn't move the damned thing?”

Dwalin grimaced. “They did.”  
Oin stopped what he was doing and leveled Dwalin with a scolding look. “And you thought it would be alright to just rip them off?”  
Dwalin scowled. “I've had much worse than this, if ye'll remember, and I'm fuckin alive! At any rate,” Dwalin's eyes found Ori, sitting in the corner, “it was completely worth it.”

Ori felt his face heating up and he smiled as he met that burning gaze. 

Oin huffed. “You weren't injured, were you Ori lad?”  
“Just a few minor cuts and scrapes.”  
“No, I meant by this brute!” 

Dwalin scowled at the healer and looked as though he were going to hit him, then thought better of it. A wise choice, given that Oin was still poised over his wound with a needle. He settled for an exasperated sigh, and turned his focus back to Ori.

Ori's gaze was on Oin and he blanched as the healer grabbed the tin of healing salve from the cot. He nodded vigorously at Dwalin and gave him a pointed look.   
“Oin? Erm, yer not gonna want to be puttin that on any wounds.” Dwalin said sheepishly.

Oin closed his eyes in frustration and let out an exasperated sigh. “Ori, lad, give me a moment with this one, would ya?” Oin's statement was obviously more a command than a request, so Ori rose obediently from his place on the floor. He walked around the cot, dropping a kiss to Dwalin's bald head as he passed. He grinned mischievously as Oin gave him an incredulous look, and he walked out the door. The raised voice of the healer carried out behind him as Dwalin got his second scolding ear full for the evening.

* * * * *

It was cold and dark as he crossed the camp, the moon like a beacon in the void of the night sky. But the cold wasn't bothersome to Ori. He was too overwhelmed with the deep sense of relief that wrapped around him like a thick blanket.   
They had survived. They had survived through war and battle and come out on the other side, together. And Dwalin was his, and he was Dwalin's, and he was about to make up with his older brother. He could never have asked for a more wonderful outcome.

Ori looked up as he approached the small gathering of company members around a fire. Bombur and Bifur sat to one side, talking softly as Bifur cleaned an angry looking cut on the larger dwarf's arm, while Bofur sat perched on a barrel, whittling of course. And Gloin was gazing longingly at the depictions of his wife and child in that locket he carried. Balin, Ori figured, was in the larger healing tent with the king and princes. And Nori and Dori were sat together, Dori's calf wrapped in bandages and both dwarves were as filthy as Ori probably was, but otherwise they looked no worse for wear. 

Ori beamed as his brothers looked up at his approach, and Nori had leapt to his feet and swept him into a bone crushing hug before he could blink.   
“Oof! Nori!” Ori tried in vain to wriggle free from his normally less affectionate brothers grasp, but finally gave up and let Nori squeeze him. 

By the time the star-haired dwarf let go, Dori had managed to get to his feet and hobble over. He assessed his brother, whose tunic and pants were covered in orc blood, and fresher red blood spattered his neck and face.

“Mahal bless! Are you hurt?” the old mother hen couldn't help himself, really.  
Ori rolled his eyes. “I'm fine, Dori,” his typically terse reply was warm as he stepped forward to embrace the silver-haired dwarf. He pulled back and beamed at Dori, who looked like he may cry with relief.  
“Wait,” Nori's voice made them both turn, questioning looks on both faces.  
“Where's Dwalin? We were told you had set up outside his tent, stubbornly refusing to move.”  
“Oin is seeing to him,” Ori replied easily.  
“With Oin? I thought he had already seen the healer. I know Oin is making rounds, but I thought everyones wounds had been addressed by now,” the question was obvious is Dori's voice.  
“Oh. Well, he pulled his stitches,” Ori mumbled.  
“Doing what, chopping firewood?!” Dori's surprise was evident and Ori couldn't look him in the eyes.  
“Not exactly....”  
“So, the two of you made up, then!” Nori gave his little brother a wry grin.  
Dori fixed his eyes on Nori, obviously confused, then he looked back at Ori's flushed face.

“Oh. OH! Ori- you....” Dori struggled to make a coherent sentence form. He took in the red splatters on Ori's face and neck, now realizing it must be Dwalin's blood. Finally he closed his eyes and shook his head primly. “I don't want to know.” With that, he hobbled unsteadily back over to sit next to the flames.

Ori shot Nori and angry look and Nori waggled his eyebrows obscenely.   
“So, little brother, did you give that old bastard a heart-attack?” Nori laughed as Ori slammed a fist into his arm.   
“Shut-up, Nori.” Ori turned on his heel and went to join their older brother by the fire. He sat down heavily and glanced around again.

“Where's Bilbo? Did Dain finally let him in to see Thorin?” the scribe asked his brother.  
Dori gave Ori a mournful look. “I'm afraid not. Bilbo's gone. He left for home without a word to anyone.”


End file.
